


A Relentless Maybe

by JustAMouse



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 18:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12659115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAMouse/pseuds/JustAMouse
Summary: Harry likes having his hair pulled, among other things.





	A Relentless Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fic in ages, and I haven't written Nick/Harry ever, but I couldn't let this, the Year Of Gryles, pass without some sort of offering. I was worried about writing something set in the past but Sunsetmog assured me it simply leads to our present day blessing of married boyfriends, so I hope it works for you. You should feel free to listen to Demi Lovato's Let's Ruin The Friendship on repeat while reading. 
> 
> With much love to Mog for Britpick. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Harry isn’t prone to nerves, not really. Not in the same way Nick is. He gets stressed, of course, but not fidgety and anxious, body tensed up like he’s going to crawl out of his skin. Nick has no idea what the problem is today, but it’s stressing him out just being in the same room as Harry. He keeps shifting position on the couch, crossing one ankle over the other knee, picking at the hem of his jeans, then huffing and tucking both legs up against his chest. His hands are fluttering between his hair, his phone, the cushion he keeps pulling into his lap and then shoving away. 

Nick glances at him again, ready to ask for the third time what the fuck is wrong, but Harry just shakes his head, a muscle in his jaw working. 

“Nothing.” 

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” 

“Nothing I want to talk about it.” 

“All right,” Nick says, turning back to the telly. He watches it, but he's still taking in Harry’s fidgeting from the corner of his vision. For a minute, he thinks Harry’s going to chill out, but then he blows a great breath out of his nose, yanks his hair from its bun, and shakes the whole mess of it out and burrows his fingers into it. 

“Oh for God’s sake—” 

“I said it’s _nothing._ ” 

“You’re going to drive me to drink, Harry Styles, and it’s four on a Sunday afternoon.” 

“You’ve been drinking since brunch.” 

“Right,” Nick says. He hits the pause button on the remote. He’s still pleasantly full and a little buzzed, and he’d thought Harry was as well. Good food and good company and bottomless breakfast cocktails, but for the last hour, Harry has been so twitchy that Pig has abandoned their company for the peace of Nick’s bedroom. Nick’s five minutes from joining her. “Come here.” 

Harry pauses, both hands still in his hair, and gives Nick a wary look. “What?” 

Nick rolls his eyes and grabs a cushion. Harry braces himself, like he expects Nick to whack him in the face with it, and if Harry was in a different sort of mood, Nick might. But something in Harry is unhappy, or anxious, or something, and whatever it is, Nick can’t tolerate it. Harry should never be unhappy. It makes everything miserable, Nick especially. 

Nick puts the cushion in his lap and thumps it. “Come here. I’m gonna pet you.” 

Harry hesitates, the hint of a smile crossing his face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. But if you don’t come here now, I am going to beat you with this thing and—” 

Next moment, Nick has a lapful of Harry, his long curls spread out over the cushion and Nick’s thighs. Harry stretches out, his long legs sprawled over the rest of the couch. He sighs deeply as Nick tunnels his fingers into Harry’s hair. 

It’s been a day or two since Harry washed it, Nick can tell straight away. When Harry’s hair is freshly washed, it’s smooth as satin and smells like coconuts. Today it’s a little tangled and smells the way Harry’s skin smells where his neck meets his shoulder. It’s intoxicating, though Nick is determined not to let it be. He’s just helping out a friend. Just…what…god, what is he doing? Soothing Harry? Something twists in Nick’s stomach, and he accidentally catches one of Harry’s tangled curls. 

“Shit, sorry.” 

“’s all right.” 

Harry fumbles the remote off the table and hits the play button, but Nick can tell he’s not watching the film. His eyes keep slipping closed, and every so often he turns his head just a little to press it into the cushion in Nick’s lap. Nick isn’t watching either, too focused on working the tangles out of Harry’s hair and watching Harry settle further down into the couch. 

Nick keeps working, moving his fingers through Harry’s curls. There are a few larger tangles, and Nick takes his time with those, gently teasing them free. He pulls too hard sometimes, but when he apologizes, Harry just smiles softly. “’s fine, really. Feels nice.” 

It’s satisfying, feeling the tension bleed out of Harry. Eventually he stops moving at all, and if it weren’t for the occasional little satisfied sigh that rumbles out of his chest, Nick would think he’d fallen asleep. And somehow it’s soothing to Nick too. The day is overcast and misty, and for once Nick’s phone isn’t going off every three minutes. The volume of the telly is turned down low, and the candles Harry lit earlier are making Nick’s entire flat smell delicious. It would be an easy thing to slide down the couch and curl around Harry and let sleep take them. 

But Nick has half a decade of practice at this, and that way leads madness. Instead he gives Harry’s hair one last sharp tug and pulls his hands free. He expects Harry to sit up or move away or…something, really. Anything except groan and turn his head so that he’s quite literally face down in Nick’s lap. Nick snaps his gaze up, heart pounding. 

“Film’s over.” 

Harry groans again. “Happy ending?” 

“Sure,” Nick says. “You…uh…hungry?” 

“Not really,” Harry says, his voice muffled. He’s not moving. He’s still very decidedly not moving. 

Nick can’t think of what to say. The moment feels fragile, but also dangerous and not in the fun way. He squeezes Harry’s shoulder, hoping that Harry will take the hint and sit the fuck up, but instead, Harry flips over onto his back, and suddenly, Nick wishes more than anything that Harry was still face down because now that Harry is face up, he’s also crotch up. 

And he’s hard. 

_Harry’s hard on my sofa,_ Nick thinks stupidly, watching in a dull sort of shock as Harry drags one hand down his face, then reaches down and palms himself. 

It takes every ounce of Nick’s willpower to not shove Harry to the floor. “Uh.” 

“Hmm?” 

“You’re…” Nick flaps his hand, unable to articulate the entire _your dick is hard_ situation. 

“I’m what? Oh, shit, sorry.” Harry gives himself one last squeeze—Nick chokes on his tongue—then stands up and reaches into his jeans to readjust himself. Nick can’t tear his gaze away. “Told you it felt good.” 

“Right,” Nick says, feeling thick-headed and stupid. “I just didn’t know it felt that kind of good.” 

Harry shrugs, at least having the decency to look a little chagrined. “Well it did.” 

They stare at one another for the longest time, and it’s like there’s a cord wrapped around Nick’s breastbone, keeping him tethered to Harry. Neither of them move. Neither of them speak. Nick’s mouth goes dry; his heart is pounding fit to burst. 

Whatever film was next in Nick’s queue bursts to life on the screen, startling them both. 

“Need the loo,” Nick says evenly. He blinks at Harry, then flees. He deliberately keeps his pace even as he makes his way to the bathroom, and only once he’s got the door firmly shut behind him does he allow himself to bury his head in his hands and try to remember how to breathe. 

 

One of the things about Harry is that once he knows he’s allowed to have something, he’s not scared to ask for it. It’s not that he’s selfish. Far from it. Harry is one of the most generous guys Nick knows. But he’s also a little bit of a hedonist, and knows what he likes in a way Nick never did when he was that age. Still, Nick thought the whole inadvertent-boner-on-the-sofa situation had been awkward enough for both of them. Apparently not though, because it’s not even a week later when Nick finds himself wedged into the corner of his sofa, Harry’s head cradled in his lap. _Miss Congeniality_ is playing on the television, and Harry is looking up at Nick with pleading eyes, his mouth turned down into a ridiculous frown. 

“Please?” he’s saying, tugging his hair free and letting it spill over the cushion. 

“I’m not sure you deserve petting,” Nick replies, but his fingers already moving. “You drank the last of my fizzy water.” 

“I’ll buy you more.” 

“Ugh, popstars. Always throwing their money around.” 

Harry grins, because that means yes. Like there was even a question. Like Nick is in the habit of telling Harry no. “Yay,” he says, flipping over and burrowing his face into the cushion. “It’s tangled. They backcombed it and put something in it for the shoot yesterday, and I haven’t washed it yet.” 

“Disgusting,” Nick says. “Next time you want grooming, a little clean up wouldn’t go amiss.” He tunnels his fingers into Harry’s hair. Harry wasn’t lying; his hair is even more tangled than last week, and it feels stiff under Nick’s fingers. Almost immediately one of his bracelets gets caught and he has to stop to free himself. “Hang on.” 

“Hang on, what?” 

“Just gonna take these off,” he says, unfastening his watch and slipping the whole lot off his wrist. He drops them on the end table and gets back to work. The skin of his wrist feels funny and sensitive, unused to being bare, but the way Harry’s hair rests on it feels nice. Nick gathers up a handful of curls and drags his fingers through, combing out the thick strands. Little snarls pull free with his movements, and since Harry isn’t complaining, Nick does it again. 

“You won’t hurt me.” 

“I’m trying not to.” 

“No, I’m saying you won’t. It doesn’t hurt me, not really.” 

“Good information,” Nick chokes out. He gathers up another fistful and combs through it, and even though he knows he shouldn’t, he pulls a little harder than necessary. His fingers catch on a tangle, and he doesn’t stop pulling. 

Harry groans and moves into the sensation. 

_Shit,_ Nick thinks. _Shit. Fuck._

It doesn’t stop him, though. He keeps going, fingers crawling through Harry’s hair. He comes to one particularly large tangle and works most of it out, then just pulls the rest free. There’s no mistaking the way Harry’s hips press down into the couch. Nick swallows thickly. What is he doing? What is he even thinking? 

He’s not thinking. That’s all there is to it. He’s clearly not thinking at all. It feels like things have gone from zero to a billion in two seconds flat, which is confusing, because he’s spent years sorting out his feelings for Harry and making sure it all worked like it was supposed to. Harry is gorgeous, yes, and if he weren’t Harry, Nick would have chucked the friendship out the window ages ago and made a move. But he is Harry, and Nick doesn’t want to lose what they’ve built together. It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s so good now, and it means more to Nick than pretty much everything else in the world combined. 

So there’s no reason for Nick to still be pulling Harry’s hair. 

There’s no way to pretend it’s anything else now. He’s got both hands tangled in Harry’s hair, and he’s clutching it, tugging and tugging and tugging, until Harry pushes up into the sensation. As soon as he does, Nick loosens his grip, and Harry settles back into his lap. 

It’s madness. It’s absolute madness. Nick should stop. He’s going to, any minute now. One more, he thinks, getting a fistful of hair from the nape of Harry’s neck and wrapping it up with his fingers. He tugs, gently at first, then harder and harder, and harder still. Nick would be slapping someone’s hands away if they tried that with him, but Harry is perfectly still beneath him, mouth hanging open a little. His hips are still pushed down into the couch, and Nick lets himself glance down that way, over the curve of Harry’s lower back, over his tiny little bum, down the near endless stretch of his legs. 

“Fuck,” Harry gasps. 

Nick lets go of his fistful. “Shit. What…Christ, sorry. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“I wasn’t thinking,” Nick says frantically, hands curled into fists against his chest. “Harry—” 

“It’s fine, Nick.” Harry pushes himself up to a sitting position and looks over his shoulder at Nick. His hair is a tangled halo around his head; Nick can’t look at it. “I asked you to.” 

“You didn’t ask me to…that.” 

Harry’s silent for so long that Nick forces himself to look at him. As soon as their gazes lock, it’s that same feeling as before, that hypercharged, caught out feeling that makes Nick’s skin buzz. He wants to jump up and run from the room. He wants to crawl over top of Harry and push him back into the cushions and just see… 

“I’m gonna…” Harry tilts his head toward the toilet. “Be right back.” 

“Course,” Nick manages. He doesn’t have to look too hard to see the way Harry’s erection is pressing up against the front of his jeans. He’s grateful for the cushion in his lap hiding his. 

When the bathroom door shuts behind Harry, Nick climbs off the couch and goes into the kitchen to splash some cool water on his face, or maybe to drown himself in his own sink. Whichever, really. He presses his hips against the sharp edge of his worktop, hoping a little pain will take the edge off his arousal, but of course it doesn’t work. The pain only makes him think of Harry’s choked off gasp, of the way he’d taken it all so well. 

Nick shudders out a breath and grabs a tea towel to dry his face. 

It’s not that he didn’t know Harry had a bit of a pain kink. Half of greater London knows that. Hell, half the world probably knows that. But there’s a difference in knowing and seeing, and more than anything, Nick wishes he hadn’t seen it. 

Except…not really. He’s glad that he saw it, as awkward and uncomfortable as he feels, because it’s…right, seeing it. Another layer of Harry that he could put back in the right way, if someone ever fucked it up. 

“Fuck me,” Nick says into the quiet kitchen. 

“You all right?” 

Nick whirls around. Harry is stood in the doorway, pink-cheeked, his hair back up in its messy bun. 

He doesn’t say “did you just wank off in my bathroom?” because the only thing Harry can say is “yes.” 

“I’m going to order some food.” 

Their eyes catch and for a minute, Nick thinks Harry is going to call him out. He holds his breath and doesn’t look away. 

“I could eat something,” Harry says. 

Nick exhales and reaches for his phone. 

 

The next morning, Nick carefully constructs a plan. It's brilliant. Groundbreaking. Flawless, really. It goes something like this: avoid Harry at all costs. 

It turns out to be even easier than Nick expected, because Harry doesn’t text, not once. It’s not unheard of, of course. He and Harry don’t live in one another’s pockets. When Harry is in L.A., they go weeks without talking. But when he’s in London, they usually speak at least a little throughout the day. Nick’s grateful, or at least he would be, if he could stop being annoyed about it. 

At eight, Aimee texts to ask if he wants to go out. Nick doesn’t, but he also doesn’t want to sit home and be annoyed, so he texts back that he’ll meet her in an hour. He showers and dresses, leaving an extra button on his shirt undone because he’s feeling it. He orders a taxi and gives the driver the name of the club Aimee suggested. 

Aimee is already a few drinks into it by the time Nick fights his way inside and finds her. She grins and throws an arm around his neck. 

“Nicholas!” 

“Hiya, drunky,” he replies. “You all right?” 

“Fantastic! You look gorgeous.” 

“Don't sound so surprised,” he replies, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You need a drink?” 

“Something with vodka.” 

He pushes through the crowd at the bar and orders a bottle of Becks, smiling when the barman gives him a once over. Nick grins and arches an eyebrow at him. 

He’s not even surprised when, a moment later, a familiar hand slides into the small of his back. He turns and finds Harry just behind him, a light sheen of sweat down his throat. “Hey,” he says, leaning in to kiss Nick’s cheek. 

Nick tries not to breathe in Harry’s aftershave. His heart kicks hard in his chest. “Hey. I didn’t know you were here.” 

“Aimee texted.” 

“Ah,” Nick says. He lifts his bottle at the barman, who slides another towards him. He hands it to Harry. 

“Is that not all right? Should I not have come?” 

“What? No, of course not.” 

Harry’s eyebrows furrow. Nick has the impossible urge to press his finger to the wrinkle there and smooth it out. “I shouldn’t have come?” 

“No! I meant of course you should. Of course you shouldn’t not have come.” 

“Shouldn’t not have come,” Harry repeats slowly. “I know I didn’t do my A levels, but I’m not sure you’re allowed to do that with, like, you know. Words.” 

“Ugh,” Nick says. He drains his beer and wraps his arm around Harry’s neck. “Shut up and give us a hug. How are you?” 

Harry goes easily, tucking into Nick’s body. It shouldn’t make Nick shudder, but it does. He just hopes Harry didn’t notice. “All right. You?” 

“Yeah. Just…” 

“Flirting with the barman?” 

“Nothing of the sort, you little shit. Come on, you wanna dance?” 

“Um,” Harry says, pulling back and glancing up at Nick from under the dark sweep of his eyelashes. “I actually wondered…if we could like…talk?” 

Nick’s heart hits the bottom of his stomach and keeps sinking. “Talk?” 

“Yeah.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t look away either. Nick’s hands go sweaty under his beer bottle. 

“Sure, yeah. What’s up?” 

“Not here.” Harry glances around. “Could we go back to yours?” 

“I—” Nick falters. “I only just got here. Aimee—” 

“Aimee is fine.” He nods his head out to the dance floor, where Aimee is whooping and waving her arms. “She’s having it large. She won’t miss you. C'mon Nick, please.” 

It’s the please that does it. Nick sighs and reaches for his wallet, glancing at his watch as he extracts his card. He’s barely been in the club twenty minutes. “The things I do for you, Styles. For these two, mate,” he says, waving his card at the barman. The guy holds up his contactless card machine and gives Harry a thorough checking out as Nick taps his card. Nick bursts out laughing. “Come on, let’s go. You’re paying for the car.” 

Harry is quiet in the taxi, flicking through his phone and bouncing his leg up and down. He’s thrumming with that same nervous energy, and just the feeling of it is putting Nick on edge. He takes a couple of pictures of his shoes, posts one to Instagram, and fills the caption up with dancing ladies. 

It’s a shortish journey back to Nick’s flat. Harry trails him up the steps, face still buried in his phone. 

“Who’re you texting?” 

“No one,” Harry says. He follows Nick inside, pockets his phone, and kicks off his shoes. 

Pig comes running, her claws skittering over the tiled floor. 

“Hello, darling,” Nick says, bending down and letting her climb all over him. She quickly abandons him for Harry, who stoops down and lets her lick his fingers. 

“Should I let her out?” 

“Nah. I took her out just before I left. She'll settle down in a second.” He waves a hand toward the kitchen. “You want anything?” 

“No,” Harry replies. He stands up. His bottom lip is tucked in between his teeth, and he’s shifting his weight back and forth on socked feet. “I don’t know. Tea? Actually, no, never mind. I don’t.” 

There’s a growing pit in Nick’s stomach that feels less like anxiety about a potentially awkward conversation, and more like actual concern for Harry’s wellbeing. He’s never seen him like this. The anxiety is coming off him in waves. “Harry, love, what is it? 

Harry laughs weakly. “Can we sit?” 

“Course,” Nick says. 

He leads Harry over to the sofa and sits down sideways on it, facing Harry. Harry sits and crosses his legs in front of him. He laces his fingers together and shoves them between his thighs. He’s still gnawing on his bottom lip. He’ll probably bite through it at the rate he’s going. 

“Harry—” 

“Nick, look.” 

“Oh shit,” Nick blurts out. “Are you breaking up with me?” 

That at least gets a proper laugh out of Harry. He leaves off his lip and drags both hands down his face. “You’re such an idiot. I’m trying to like… There’s something I want to tell you, yeah? About the other night. Because I’ve never…you know.” He waves a hand around. “Done that before.” 

“Harry Styles,” Nick gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. “Are you trying to tell me you’re a virgin?” 

This laugh is weaker than the one before. “Nick, stop. I really am trying to like, say a thing.” 

“I’m not stopping you, love.” 

“No, but you are. You keep making jokes and I’m just sat here like a fucking idiot, and I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I really do want to talk about it. Well, I don’t really want to do the actual talking, but I want to have talked about it, if that makes sense.” 

It doesn’t. Nick shakes his head. “I’ve no idea what you’re trying to say.” 

“Fuck.” The sofa creaks as Harry rocks back and forth. “This is awful. I really have been trying to figure this out all day, and I can’t think of anything to do except say it, okay? So if it doesn’t make sense to you, I don’t blame you, cause I’m not sure it makes sense to me either.” 

“Okay,” Nick says slowly. His voice is barely more than a croak. He can’t work out what Harry is building up to, but it can’t be good, not going by the look on his face or the way his shoulders are steeped in misery. “I won’t say a word.” 

“That’ll be the day.” 

“Oh, ha bloody ha,” Nick says. “Now who’s got jokes?” 

A soft smile spreads across Harry’s face. “You are so… We’re mates, right? Like, proper mates, yeah?” 

“Of course we are,” Nick says, taken aback. “Best friends, aren’t we?” 

“Yeah, we are. And I don’t want to lose that.” 

“You haven’t. You couldn’t.” 

“That’s what I’m hoping, ’cause I don’t want to fuck this up, Nick. I couldn’t stand it if I did that.” 

“Harry, you couldn’t,” Nick says, and it’s suddenly urgent that Harry understand how serious he is. He leans forward and grabs Harry’s hands in his, wrapping his fingers around Harry’s wrists. Nick hasn’t walked through the fires of hell with Harry’s fans and both their publicists and his own stupid heart for the last five years to lose him over something as stupid as a couple of wayward hard-ons. “Whatever happened, it’s okay, yeah? It was stupid. We don’t ever have to—” 

“But see, that’s the thing. It wasn’t stupid, not to me. And that’s what I’m worried about. It wasn’t stupid. I liked it. I…more than liked it. I suppose I always thought I would, but I’ve never, not properly, you know? Because I don't trust anyone to do it. Well, I don’t trust anyone else to do it.” 

“You don't—” Nick’s head is spinning. He can’t think of a single thing to say, because his brain won’t let him process Harry’s words. He stares at him, mouth hanging open. 

At his silence, Harry pulls his wrist free. His jaw goes tight, and his face pales. “Right. Sorry. This was a stupid idea.” 

“Hang on.” Nick’s hand darts out, grabbing Harry’s wrist again. “Don’t get upset.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You are.” 

“Well, obviously, Nick.” 

“Obviously what? I don’t understand what you’re saying.” 

“I’m saying I liked it!” he bursts out, jerking loose and standing up. His whole body is taut as a guitar string, ready to snap at any second. “I’m saying I liked you hurting me. I’m saying you pulling my hair got me off. That I went into your bathroom and jerked off thinking about it. That I went home and did it again. That I can’t stop thinking about it and wanting it and trying to figure out how to ask you to do it again.” 

His chest is heaving by the time he finishes, and he’s staring down at Nick with wild eyes, hands curled into fists at his side. Nick can't seem to get air into his lungs. It’s too hot, suffocatingly so, and sweat prickles the back of Nick’s neck. His brain is too busy trying to catch up, making it impossible for him to do more than sit and gape at Harry. Seconds pass. Hours. Kingdoms rise and fall. With no small amount of difficulty, Nick shuts his mouth and swallows. He stands up, swaying on his feet. 

“I’m going to get a glass of water.” 

“Right.” Harry doesn’t sound angry anymore, or bitter, just resigned. He looks down at the carpet and pinches his bottom lip between the pads of his forefinger and thumb. 

“Don’t leave, all right?” 

Harry looks up. His eyes flicker over Nick’s face. “Yeah, all right.” 

Somehow Nick finds himself in the kitchen. He’s suddenly thirsting to death. He fills a glass with tepid water from the tap and drains it, then refills it and carries it out to Harry, who’s still stood in the middle of the lounge. He takes the glass with a weak smile, and Nick almost immediately wishes he hadn’t given it to him, just so he’d having something to do with his hands. He twists them together, then wipes them on his jeans and shoves them into his pockets. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Harry says. He’s still just holding the glass. “I know it’s a big ask.” 

Nick laughs, humourless. “You know you didn’t really even ask me anything.” 

Harry waits until their gazes are locked before saying, “Didn’t I?” 

Shit. Nick’s gaze darts around the room, not landing on anything in particular. There’s too much going on inside him; it’s all jumbled up, tangled and knotted. He’s upside down and inside out, palms sweating and stomach roiling. “Do you know,” he says after about seven hours, “I think this is the first time I’ve ever felt nervous around you.” 

“Yeah?” Harry laughs wryly. “Can’t say the same.” 

Nick’s eyebrows go up. “Really?” 

“Oh yeah, especially when we first met. I was so…just so young and stupid, and you seemed so…” 

“Cool and effortlessly chic?” 

“Like I said, I was young and stupid.” 

“Oi!” 

Harry presses his lips together. After a moment, a smile blooms across his face, making Nick feel even more nervous, but somehow so desperately fond of Harry at the same time. He adores Harry, he really does. And with anyone else, Nick wouldn’t even pause, probably. He’s slept with plenty of his friends for reasons worse than this. Here’s Harry genuinely asking him for help, and it’s only Nick’s messy and stupid feelings stopping him. 

“We can forget I said anything.” 

“What do you think about?” Nick asks. “When you think about it, how does it go?” 

Harry’s mouth goes lax. He sucks in a deep, shuddery breath. “Fuck, really?” 

“I’m not saying yes. I’m just…not saying no either.” 

“Mostly just, you know. How it feels. What it was like when it happened before, even though you weren't trying to—” 

“I was,” Nick says. “I was trying to.” 

Harry's chest heaves. He squares his shoulders and meets Nick’s gaze. “I think about leaning back against you, and your hands in my hair.” 

“Both of them?” Nick says. He doesn’t know if Harry understands what he’s asking. If it’s just pulling Harry’s hair while Harry gets himself off, Nick might be able to come back from that. But if he touches Harry, if he gets his hands on him the way he’s wanted to for so long… 

“Yeah,” Harry says, voice slow. His eyes have gone unfocussed, and he’s kneading the meat of his thigh with one hand. “Yeah, both of them in my hair. Just, I like it when it stings, yeah? But then I like it when you pull hard too. It’s duller, but it lasts longer too.” He laughs softly. “You see what I mean? I can’t exactly ask some random person to like…” He waves his hands. “That’d make a fine front page for the Mirror.” 

It clicks for him, then. The pieces slot into place, and Nick understands. “And you wouldn’t have to worry about that with me.” 

“I never worry about anything with you.” 

It’s like getting punched in the chest. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Nick says, rolling his eyes. “All right already. I give up.” 

“Oh shit, really?” Harry asks, sounding disbelieving, but he’s already going for the button of his jeans. 

“Gotta have something to put in my book one day, don’t I? Come on, let’s have you, then.” 

Harry grins, broad and happy. “You love me.” 

“I don’t. How do you want to do this?” 

“Uhm. Could we, like, on your bed?” 

“Is that where you—” Nick breaks off to clear his throat. He’d thought the sofa, maybe, since that’s where they’d been before. It seems far safer than his bed, but Harry is watching him with a strange mixture of hesitation and desperation. In for a penny, Nick thinks. “Is that where you think about when you, like…” 

“It is, yeah.” 

“Let’s go, then,” he says, and Harry steps forward and slips his hand into Nick’s. 

“Nick, thank you.” 

Nick squeezes Harry’s fingers. “Mates, right?” 

“Best mates.” 

Harry keeps hold of his hand as they make their way back to Nick’s bedroom. Nick flips on the bedside lamp, leaving the big light off. He toes off his shoes and turns to Harry. “How do you want this?” 

“Could you sit there?” he asks, motioning at the head of the bed. If he's nervous, he's not showing it. ”And lean back on the headboard, like, yeah.” He nods as Nick does as he asked, and lowers the zip of his jeans. “Can I sit between your legs?” 

“Course,” Nick says. His voice sounds steadier than he feels, which is a small mercy. 

Harry peels his jeans down his legs and kicks them off. They land with a whap on top of Nick’s shoes. He tugs his shirt up and off, but leaves his pants on, a fact that makes Nick enormously grateful. His own jeans are already too tight, but he’ll be damned if he’s taking them off. 

Harry climbs onto the bed and knee-walks up to Nick. He smiles and slides a hand into Nick’s hair. His gaze flickers between Nick’s eyes and his mouth, causing Nick’s heart rate to triple. He lifts a hand and rests it on Harry’s hip. His skin is fever-hot and unbearably soft. Nick squeezes him once. 

“Come on, love.” He pats the mattress between his spread thighs. “Turn round.” 

Harry inhales sharply. He nods once, then reaches up and tugs his hair free. 

It’s pavlovian now, the way Nick responds to Harry’s hair tumbling down over his shoulders. His dick fattens up in his jeans, his breath going shallow and quick. He has to stop himself just reaching up for a fistful. 

Somehow Harry turns and settles down into the cradle of Nick’s thighs, his back resting against Nick’s chest. His skin is hot through the thin fabric of Nick's shirt. He plants his feet on the mattress, hands coming to rest on his knees. 

Nick unfastens his bracelets and watch, dropping them to the duvet. He lifts his shaking fingers and threads them into Harry’s dark curls. 

“Mmm,” Harry murmurs, head hanging forward. Nick moves his fingers over the base of Harry's skull, where his curls are always the softest. He drags them up and out, taking in the shiver that wracks Harry's shoulders. 

“Like that?” 

“Yeah.” He tips his head back onto Nick’s shoulder, exposing the long column of his throat. 

It’s the easiest thing in the world then, to lean his forehead against his own wrist and press his nose to the side of Harry’s throat, filling his lungs with the scent of his skin. He pulls the other hand through Harry’s hair at the same time, dragging his head to one side. He curls the fingers of his right hand into a fist and leaves it there, holding the tension. 

Harry’s breath goes sharp. He’s motionless, except the way he’s rising and falling with Nick’s chest. When Nick chances a look, he’s a little surprised to see that even though Harry’s hard, tenting out his pants, he’s still not touching himself. 

“You waiting for something?” Nick asks. He combs both hands back into Harry’s hair, from the roots all the way to the tips. 

Harry doesn’t answer, just tilts his head to the side, giving Nick more access to his neck. Nick has to stop himself from setting his teeth there. Instead he trails the backs of his fingers down all that exposed skin, making Harry shiver. 

“I like that,” Harry says. “Soft.” 

“Yeah? Better than—” 

“Both. Good when it's both.” 

The logistics of it were easier on the sofa, with Harry sprawled across his lap and Nick’s arms free, but he Nick likes this better. He likes the weight of Harry’s body pressing down on him, and he likes that they can’t pretend this isn’t happening. Whether or not it ought to be, it is. Nick buries his nose in the nape of Harry’s neck and breathes him in. 

“Nick, please.” 

He pulls hard, then, snatching Harry’s head backward. Harry gasps, then groans and finally—finally—reaches between his legs. 

“Oh fuck,” Harry moans. Nick lifts his head and watches Harry palm himself through his pants. However many times he’s seen Harry touch himself, and it’s a fair few, it’s a shocking sight this time. Because this time isn't incidental, or a joke, or meant to provoke a response from thousands of screaming fans. Harry is touching himself with intent, and it’s the hottest thing Nick has ever seen. 

Harry’s panting now, chest rising and falling so quickly it seems he’ll hyperventilate. Without really meaning to, Nick wraps one arm around him and hauls him in even closer, pressing his thighs tightly against Harry’s hips, cradling him close. He splays one hand out over Harry’s sternum, thumb brushing the skin-warm metal of Harry’s necklace. 

“You gotta breathe, love.” 

Harry laughs weakly, still gripping himself over his faded black pants. “Trying.” 

“What do you need?” Nick asks, before he can stop himself. He moves his thumb over Harry’s damp skin. 

“Just…keep going.” 

All right. Nick can do that. It’s what he signed up for, after all. He keeps Harry tight against his chest and wraps one of Harry’s curls around his forefinger. He yanks hard. 

“Fuck,” Harry says. “Fuck fuck fuck.” 

“It’s good, yeah? What you wanted?” 

“So good. Nick, babe, so good, oh my god.” 

His voice is making Nick desperate. His voice, the weight of him between Nick’s thighs, the way he’s starting to push his hips into his hand, it’s all making Nick so desperate. Every nerve ending is lit up like a firecracker, zipping all over his skin. He wants so much he could die from it. 

He thought the way he felt about Harry was bottomless before, but now… Nick squeezes his eyes shut. He’s never coming back from this. 

“Get it out,” he says, pressing the words into Harry’s shoulder. “Wanna see.” 

Harry chokes, his arm stilling. Nick opens his eyes to see Harry’s got a death grip around his dick. His knuckles are white, the tendons in his wrist stood out in stark relief under his pale skin. He sucks in one rapid breath, then another, then another. “Yeah?” 

Nick knows he shouldn’t be asking for things. This isn’t about him, and it never was. But he’s got it now: he’s got Harry in his bed, begging and desperate, and needing Nick. He never let himself imagine this was a possibility. Nick’s hips push forward, pressing his dick against Harry’s back. He’s so hard he dizzy. 

“Always wanna see you,” he says into Harry’s skin. “Always. You’ve no idea what you look like. You think you do, but you don’t.” 

“Tell me.” 

“What you look like?” 

Harry nods shakily, and even though Nick knows he shouldn’t, he leans in and sets his teeth into the skin of Harry’s neck. Harry cries out, arching into the pain. He shoves his hand into his pants and yanks them down. 

All the air escapes the room in one great whoosh. Nick can’t breathe, and he doesn’t even care. He worries the skin of Harry's throat between his teeth, getting his hands back in the mass of sweaty hair curling against his shoulder. He pulls and yanks, moving Harry’s head this way and that, all the while keeping his teeth in Harry’s neck. He sucks the skin into his mouth, undone by the way Harry is thrashing against him. 

“Tell me.” Harry is panting, jerking himself off to the same rhythm of his chanted, “tell me tell me tell me.” 

Nick loosens his bite and licks a broad stripe over Harry’s blood-red skin. It'll be bruised for days. Good, Nick thinks viciously. ”Gorgeous. You’re so bloody gorgeous, H. I can’t ever stop staring at you. Sometimes I think I could die from wanting you. Wanna put my hands all over you. Wanna just…Christ, what else do you want?” 

“Anything,” Harry gasps. “Nick, anything.” 

It’s a dangerous offer, one Nick recognizes even in his addled state that he’s not likely to get again. “God, I want to kiss you.” 

Harry cries out, twisting in Nick’s arms, and even though the words just escaped his mouth, it takes Nick a minute to get with the program and realize what Harry is trying to do. Once he does, he loosens his grip just enough for Harry to turn in the circle of Nick’s arms and scramble up onto his knees. He swings one leg wide and Nick tilts his chin up so he can capture Harry’s mouth with his own. 

It’s not earth shattering. There aren’t fireworks or car alarms. Nothing explodes and Nick’s heart doesn’t stop beating. It’s just their mouths and their desperate hands, scrambling over one another’s skin. Nick turns his head one way, then the other, sliding his tongue against Harry’s. He scoops one arm down under the curve of Harry’s ass and hauls him forward, settling Harry into his lap. One of Harry’s knees comes down on either side of Nick’s hips, pinning him in place. 

“Do it,” Harry says, tearing his mouth away. “Nick, my hair.” 

“Yeah,” Nick says. He shoves both hands into Harry’s curls and yanks his head backward. 

Harry gasps and bucks up, shoving his dick up against the flat plan of Nick’s stomach. 

There’s nothing else for it. Nick fixes his mouth to Harry’s collar bone, laying down a line of biting kisses until he gets to the hollow just at the base of his throat. Nick kisses him softly there, a contrast to the violence of his hands. They’re clenching and unclenching, yanking and pulling so hard Harry’s going to be sore for ages. But it isn’t slowing him down; if anything, Nick’s aggression is spurring Harry on. He’s fucking up against Nick, rutting desperately against whatever part of his body he comes into contact with. 

“You,” Harry gasps. His hands, which had been curled around Nick’s shoulders suddenly snake between their bodies, fumbling until they land on Nick’s waistband. “Nick, let me—” 

Nick doesn’t even hesitate. He pulls his hands free and wraps them around Harry’s hips, lifting him up and rolling him forward onto his back, and Harry, god, Harry. He just goes with it, legs coming up and wrapping around Nick’s waist as Nick presses him down onto the mattress, his head nearly slamming into the footboard. Harry’s eyes flash as Nick follows him down, covering his mouth again. 

Long moments pass with their mouths pressed together, breathless gasps slipping between their lips as they struggle to breathe. 

“Nick,” Harry gasps, wrenching his mouth away and turning his head to the side. His hands are moving again, undoing Nick’s jeans. Once the zip is down, he parts the fabric and shoves his hand inside. 

Between the two of them, they get Nick’s jeans and pants pushed down under the curve of his arse, and then it’s skin on skin, their heated dicks snubbed up against one another. 

Everything goes white. Sparks explode behind Nick’s eyelids. He ruts his dick against Harry’s, shoving him even further down the bed. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Harry gasps out. His hands fly over his head; he braces himself against the footboard and grinds his hips up. 

It goes on like that. Sweat rolls down Nick’s back, making his shirt stick to his skin. He’s barely even got hold of Harry’s hair anymore, just one hand buried under the nape of his neck and tilting his chin up so he can smear messy kisses all over Harry’s mouth. He can’t breathe and he doesn’t care. He never wants to breathe again, unless he’s inhaling the scent of Harry’s arousal. 

“Close,” Harry says, planting one foot on the bed and pushing up, working his hips in tight circles. “Nick, babe, close.” 

“Fuck, wait,” Nick demands, almost mad with it. He pushes himself up and back onto his knees, resting his weight on his heels so he can hook his hands under Harry’s knees and drag him closer. He gets one hand around both their dicks, works his fingers over the heads. Harry is dripping all over himself, and Nick slicks up his fingers and drags them over his own slit. 

Harry lifts his head off the bed and glances down. “Oh my god,” he moans, head dropping back down. “That's so hot. Oh my god, that's so fucking hot, Nick. I gotta come, babe, I gotta—” 

“Yeah,” Nick grunts out. His hand is a blur, arse clenching as he fucks into the tight circle of his fist. He rakes his eyes over the sprawl of Harry's body, feral with want. 

Harry's back arches when he comes, and his mouth falls open. Everything between them goes hot and slick, Harry's come spurting up and over Nick's fingers. The scent of it hits Nick like a shot. 

Fuck, but Nick loves that smell. He bloody loves it. 

Harry sags back on the bed, one last spurt of come dribbling out of his dick. Once Nick is sure he's done, he lets go of Harry and tightens his fingers around himself. He pulls hard a half-dozen times, then spills all over Harry's dick and the thatch of dark, curly hair at the base of it. 

Nick drops his head, chest heaving, and heart thundering. 

By the time he comes back to himself, Harry's got his arm thrown over his eyes, his knees fallen open. Nick grimaces at the spunk cooling on his hand. He wipes it on his jeans, still trapped around his thighs, and rolls to the side, coming to rest beside Harry. 

Harry laughs softly and moves his leg to make room. 

“Well,” Nick says, because the room is too quiet without their harsh breathing to fill it. “That...uh...happened.” 

“It certainly did.” He laughs again and rolls his head to the side, peering at Nick from beneath his arm. “To be honest, it was probably overdue.” 

Nick can't think of anything to say to that, so he presses his mouth shut. His body is exhausted, but his mind is already going, struggling to break through the post-orgasm bliss. He'd said too much, he knows that, even if he can't remember all of it. Harry doesn't seem panicked though, sinking into the bed and sprawling his feet up onto the pillows. Nick tries to match his breathing to the rise and fall of Harry's chest. Whatever he said, it can't have been too bad if Harry isn't running for the door. 

“I'm going to go and have a wash,” Harry says, shattering the quiet night. “Can I crash here?” 

“Course. You don't have to ask.” 

Harry sits up, pulling his pants up over his hips. He leans in and squeezes Nick's cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, forcing his mouth into an exaggerated pout. He smacks a kiss to his lips and grins. “Save you some hot water.” 

The bathroom door shuts behind Harry, and Nick rolls over onto his front and buries his face in the duvet. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

 

The shower is going when Nick wakes up next morning, Harry's soft singing filtering into the bedroom above the sound of the water on tile. Nick blinks his eyes open into the dim light of the room. It's cozy and familiar, Pig a warm weight in the crook of his knees and Harry's voice, soft and sweet in the other room. Nick knuckles his eyes, pushing the sleep from them, and presses his face against his pillow. Pig snuffles and burrows closer, flopping her head over Nick's knee. 

“Morning, Piggy Pig Pig,” he says, reaching down to rub her face. She roots around against his palm, her tail whapping happily against the bed. Nick burrows down further in the duvet, feeling warm and easy. He could stay in bed all day, really. Or at least the rest of the morning. There's nothing pressing, no work to be done and nowhere to be. 

The water turns off, and a few minutes later, Harry emerges from the bathroom, one of Nick's towels wrapped around his waist, another draped over his shoulders. He's raking his fingers through his wet hair, shaking water droplets all over Nick's floor. 

“Oh,” he says, pausing in the doorway. Pig's tail thumps double time. ”Morning.” 

“Hey,” Nick croaks. There's a mottled bruise blooming on the side of Harry's neck, nestled right in the curve. Nick can't look away from it. 

It snaps back like a taut rubber band, then: the hair pulling, his hands all over Harry's body. Nick goes from vaguely pleased with himself to anxiety ridden, all at once. His heart kicks hard, and his stomach churns. He sits up, clutching the duvet to his chest like some kind of character from a soap. 

It's almost funny. He started this whole thing to help Harry calm down. Now he's a bundle of flayed open nerves. It's a wonder his nails aren't chewed down to nubs. 

“And good morning to you, Pig dog.” 

Pig leaps over Nick to get to Harry for pets. Harry leans down, getting his fingers under her ears. 

“I let her out before I had a shower. I don't know why she's acting like she's never seen me before.” He looks up. ”You're up early for a Sunday.” 

“Yeah, well, there was some god-awful racket in my bathroom this morning. Sounded like a cat being sat on, it did.” 

Harry narrows his eyes. “Laughs, Grimshaw. Jokes, jokes, jokes.” 

“Who's laughing?” Nick rakes his hand through his hair. Right. He can do this. His mind whirls, making a quick list of neutral topics. Jokes. Pig. Harry's ridiculous voice. Anything, really, that's not Harry's stood nearly naked in his bedroom, dripping everywhere because he can't be bothered to properly dry himself off. “What are you doing up so early?” 

Harry shrugs. “Needed coffee. Thought I'd run out and pick up some brekkie.” 

“Yeah?” Breakfast is good. Breakfast feels safe. “You can get on that any time, mate. Sausages, I think. Or something with bacon. Sausages and bacon.” 

Harry straightens up, putting a hand to his back and stretching. “You should come with, since you're up.” 

“But I'm not up,” Nick says. ”See?” He pats the bed. “Still down.” 

“If you get up, I'll buy you a bacon buttie. If you stay in bed, I'm going to bring you a kale juice.” 

Nick gasps. “Harry Edward Styles, you wouldn't.” 

Harry grins. “Wouldn't I?” 

“But... _why_?” 

“Cause I'll get lonely if I have to go by myself.” 

“But you were going to bring me food before!” 

“That's when I thought you were asleep. Now you're not.” 

Nick dives back into the pillows, faking a snore that sends Pig off the bed and out onto the landing. His heart has settled into a more normal rhythm. This isn't weird. It's perfectly normal. No reason to lose it—yet. 

Then Harry goes and bloody ruins the entire thing. One moment it's all perfectly fine, a normal Sunday morning with no hint of anything from last night crowding in and making things weird; the next, the bed is dipping under Harry's weight. His hands go to Nick's hips, and he pushes gently until Nick rolls onto his back. Harry smiles and swings one knee over, straddling Nick's lap. 

Nick's heart shoots up and slams into the roof of his mouth. Without permission, his hands land on Harry's thighs. “Um.” 

“Let's try this again, yeah?” Harry slides a hand into Nick's hair and leans in, his necklaces trailing over Nick's chest. He drags the tip of his nose down the length of Nick's, then drops a soft kiss on his mouth. He doesn't push or deepen the kiss, just stays there kneeling above Nick, one hand in his hair, one planted on the bed beside Nick's head. His mouth is soft and gentle. When he pulls away, Nick is horrified to feel himself whimper. “Good morning.” 

Nick swallows. “Good morning.” 

“I'd like to take you out for breakfast. Will you let me?” 

The clacking of Pig's nails is the only warning they get before she rockets into the room and launches herself onto the bed, knocking Harry to the side in a fit of giggles. Nick looks at two of them tangled together, Pig licking the shower water from Harry's feet as Harry laughs and fruitlessly tries to squirm away. 

“Ugh, fine,” Nick says, shoving the covers away and swinging his legs out of the bed. “Take me out for breakfast.” What does it matter? He's fucked either way. 

They end up going to the bakery round the corner and picking up coffee and a bag of croissants and Danish pastries. The sky opens up just as they let Pig out into the back garden, the overnight drizzle turning into a downpour. Pig's done with her business in a split second, hurtling back inside and zooming around their feet to show her displeasure. 

“Strange creature,” Nick tells her, grabbing a towel and getting the worst of the mud off her feet. 

“My mum texted yesterday,” Harry tells him, taking the towel to throw in with the dirty washing. 

“How's Anne?” 

Harry raises an eyebrow and hands Nick his coffee. “You'd know better than me.” 

“Excuse me, I haven't talked to your mum in...” Nick pulls out his phone and checks his messages. Anne is three from the top. “...four days,” Nick lies. 

Harry rolls his eyes. “I think you talk to her more than I do.” 

“Because I'm a better person than you are. Is that why she rang? To tell you I'm a nicer than you?” 

“Yeah, that's it exactly.” 

“Thought so,” Nick says. He folds himself down on the sofa and pats the cushion for Pig to come cuddle. “What else did she say?” 

“Wants me to come up for a few days. Gave me a proper guilt trip.” 

“She didn't.” 

“No,” Harry says, “but I haven't been up in ages. I've got some time off, thought I'd drive up today and spend some time with her.” 

“That sounds nice.” 

“Can you come?” 

Nick freezes, an apple Danish halfway to his mouth. “What?” 

“Could you come with me? Up to my mum's?” 

Nick's been to Anne's a million times, but something about this invitation feels different. Of course, everything feels different now. Now he's knows how warm and slick Harry's mouth is inside, and how he looks when he comes. Now, he thinks that if he pulled Harry down on top of him, it might be okay. “I can't, love. I wish I could, but I've got work.” 

“No, right.” Harry licks a bit of jam off his thumb. “I know you can't. I just wish you could.” 

“Me too,” Nick says, and he means it. “When are you leaving?” 

“Dunno.” Harry shrugs and looks outside. ”Before too long. Don't know about this weather, though.” 

“Don't think it's going to let up soon.” Nick looks down at his lap. “Do you have to go today? Alexa and Daisy are coming over later. Gonna do a roast, I think. You could stay a bit, drive up tomorrow.” 

Their eyes meet. A smile blooms across Harry's face. “I could do.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You'll stay?” 

Harry nods once. “I'll stay.” 

He does. He stays for breakfast, then runs the hoover around before Alexa and Daisy come over. It's the same as a thousand rainy Sundays they've spent together, but different too. Harry doesn't kiss Nick again, but Nick thinks that if he kissed Harry, Harry would let him. He keeps smiling at him, sending him these looks that make Nick's hands go clammy and send him into the kitchen to check on the dishwasher or to make sure he's got potatoes in. 

When Alexa and Daisy get there, Nick propels Daisy into the kitchen where Harry's chopping carrots, then grabs Alexa by the wrist and hauls her into the bathroom. 

“I got off with Harry last night,” he whispers furiously, shutting the door behind them. 

Her eyes go huge. “You—” 

“We didn't have sex, but we did, like...” Nick lets go of Alexa and flaps his hand around. “And then this morning he kissed me and bought me breakfast and asked me to go up to his mum's, which I can't cause of work, obviously, and then he just like...stayed here. Cause I asked him to. Don't say anything. Nothing, Chung, seriously. Not a word. Fuck, I just feel like my bleeding chest is gonna explode. I had to say something.” 

Alexa gapes at him for a minute, her pretty face drawn in shock. Finally she shuts her mouth, swallows, and nods. “Right. Is my eyeliner wrecked? It's coming down buckets out there.” 

Her left wing is a little smudged, so Nick grabs a tissue and neatens up the sharp edge. “There,” he says. “Perfect.” 

Later that night, Harry climbs into bed with his hair down around his shoulders and a question in his eyes. There are a thousand reasons to say no, but not a single one big enough to make Nick stop. 

 

  
Mid-morning, Nick gets a text saying that Harry's walked Pig and locked up. ”Lucky we're not on air,” Fiona says, waggling her eyebrows at Nick. “You know I'd make you read it out.” 

“Nothing juicy, I'm afraid,” Nick responds. He texts back a thumbs up, then locks his phone and tucks it into his pocket. He'd hoped Harry would hang around until he got home from the studio, but it's probably better that he hasn't. The two of them couldn't keep their hands off one another the night before, and Nick isn't sure it would be any better today. A little distance will be good, just for Nick to get his head back on straight. Harry'll spend a few days with Anne, and by the time gets back to London, Nick'll have his act together. “Just my dog walker.” 

“Is that why you've got that face on?” 

“What face?” 

“That face,” she says, waving her hand at you. “You’ve got a smile on you, have all morning. To be honest, you look like you got lucky.” 

Nick's face betrays him, breaking into a grin he isn't quick enough to cover. 

“You did! You tramp! Out with—” 

Nick cuts the last fifteen seconds off of the song, causing Fiona's mouth to fall open, looking outraged. He shakes his head at her and jabbers on a little longer than strictly necessary. When he starts the next song, he risks a glance at her. 

“You can save that,” she says. “I'll get it out of you.” 

“Such a busy body. There's nothing to tell,” he says, turning back to his lists. Fiona makes a noise to let him know she doesn't believe him. Nick doesn't really believe it either, but he's going to get himself there. It was nothing, just helping out a friend. Nothing he hasn't done before, nothing he won't do again. 

Still, Nick sneaks out after the production meeting, just so that he'll be home if Harry calls to chat. 

Harry doesn't call that day, or the next. Or the one after that. 

Or. 

Or. 

Or. 

 

Winter arrives like a wad of wet paper towels sliding down the bathroom mirror. Even when it's not raining, the air is so wet it's impossible to go out without damp straight through, and every time Nick thinks it can't get more miserable out, it does. Dragging himself out of bed for work is a nightmare, but staying in bed is worse. It's too easy to remember Harry there, sprawled under Nick with his hair spread out on the pillows. It's too easy to touch himself, remembering how Harry had gasped his name and buried his face in Nick's neck, fingers digging into his skin. 

Nick hates himself, but he can't make himself stop. He showers afterwards in water as hot as he can stand it, water dripping down his face. 

Four weeks after Harry leaves, Pix drags them all to some new restaurant called Level. The rain has stopped but it's so cold Nick almost sacrifices his quiff in favor of a beanie. 

It's about a million degrees in the restaurant. Nick shrugs off his coat and fans himself, the bands around his chest loosening when he sees Aimee waving at him from the bar. He wades through the crowd, three deep trying to get a seat. 

“Hey, babe,” she says, moving her bag off the barstool she saved for him. Everyone around them is glaring, but Nick doesn't care. He slides onto the seat and settles in to try and get the barman's attention. 

“Hiya. Where is everyone?” 

“Who knows,” Aimee says. She waves her hand at the guy behind the bar, and a vodka cocktail appears in front of Nick. He forces himself not to down it in one. “Pix should be here any time, and Alexa texted to say she'll be late. She's stuck in some meeting.” 

“Alexa's coming?” 

“Course,” Aimee replies, giving him a look. “Why wouldn't she?” 

“Just thought she was in New York.” 

“Got back last week. Didn't she text you?” 

She had. She's been texting Nick pretty regularly the past few weeks, but most of them go unanswered. Alexa is the only person who knows what happened with Harry, and Nick isn't exactly keen to go into it. He still hasn't told Aimee, which feels miserable. It's the only thing he's ever kept from her. 

Before Nick can respond, Daisy appears, having elbowed her way through the crowd. She wraps her cold hands around Nick's cheeks. He yelps, nearly falling off his bar stool. 

“It's freezing to death out there! Where is everyone?” 

“You look gorgeous,” Aimee says as Daisy kisses her cheek. “Is that new?” 

“It is, yeah. You like?” She twirls, showing off her dress. She's got tights underneath and some boots Nick would kill for. 

“It's fantastic.” 

“Gorgeous,” Nick tells her. “Where are those boots from?” 

“Pixie is—” 

“Right here!” Pixie yells. The crowd spits her out, and she slams into Nick, who steadies her with an arm around her waist. “I'm right here. I almost couldn't find you. It's a mad house in here!” 

“You picked it,” Daisy tells her. 

Nick drains his cocktail, watching the three of them climb over one another like puppies in a basket. Out of nowhere, he feels a real, genuine smile spread over his face. His chest feels lighter than it has in ages. The feeling carries him straight through dinner, a strange Caribbean fusion that's so delicious Nick thinks he's going to have to unbutton his jeans. He leans back in his chair instead, surprised to find himself nodding along to the music blaring overhead. 

Under the table, Aimee squeezes his knee. “You look happy.” 

“What's not to be happy about?” 

Aimee gives him a look. “You tell me.” 

Nick straightens up. “I don't know what you're talking about.” 

“That's a lie,” she says. “One I'm not going to let you get away with for much longer.” 

“I wonder who's doing this music,” Nick says, raising his voice. Aimee has done an admirable job of holding her tongue this last month, and Nick almost appreciates it. Some days he wishes she'd force it out of him. He's mostly glad she hasn't tried yet. He doesn't think he's got much time left, though. “They're killing it.” 

“I know,” Daisy says. “I'm gonna go see.” 

“Looking like that?” Nick says, waving at Daisy's dress. “You'll send the poor sod into cardiac arrest.” 

Daisy flips him off. “Come with?” 

Relieved at the escape route, Nick slides out of the booth and grabs Daisy's arm. They pick their way over to the DJ's booth, where Daisy immediately catch the attention of the guy on the decks. He smiles, lifting his chin in greeting. 

Then he catches sight of Nick; a huge grin spreads across his face, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “Nick Grimshaw!” he yells. “Hang on a sec.” 

He sets the next song on and slides out of the booth. 

“Hey,” Daisy yells. “We just wanted to come tell you you're smashing it up here.” 

“Yeah?” The guy grins. He glances at Nick. “I'm glad to hear it. I'm Ethan.” 

“Daisy. This is Nick.” 

“Yeah,” Ethan says. “I know. I'm a big fan.” 

Nick can't think of what to say to that. He's not usually tongue-tied in the presence of pretty boys, but he's out of practice. “Well. Glad to hear it.” 

“We actually met once before, at one of Jessica's parties. It was just for a second. You probably don't remember.” 

Nick doesn't remember, nor can he think of who Jessica is. It's a shame, really. Ethan is beautiful, all long limbs and jet black hair tumbling down over his forehead. Seems like the kind of guy Nick would remember. “Sure, of course. How is she?” 

“Good, yeah. I'll tell her you asked.” 

“Do that,” he says. Ethan's still grinning. Nick can't seem to make himself look away. 

Beside him, Daisy clears her throat. “Well, you need to get back to it, I guess. We just wanted to come tell you you're amazing.” 

“I appreciate it,” Ethan says. “It was good to meet you, and to see you again, Nick.” He turns back to the booth, then stops. “Are you lot like...what are you doing after this?” 

“Dunno,” Nick says. He glances at Daisy, who gives him a look that is probably supposed to mean something. “Do we have plans, babe?” 

“We absolutely do not.” 

“I'm playing round the corner later, at Ginger Man. I'm almost done here, then I'm going over there.” 

“Are you?” Daisy digs her nails into Nick's side. “Well. Maybe we'll see you there.” 

“What the hell kind of club is called Ginger Man?” Nick asks. 

Ethan bursts into laughter. “The kind that pays, mate.” 

“Fair enough,” Nick says, grinning. 

“Gotta go,” Ethan says, nodding his head back to the booth. He meets Nick's gaze. “But do come later, if you can, yeah?” 

“How do you not remember him?” Daisy asks, hauling Nick back to their table. “He's gorgeous. And he was into you.” 

“Dunno. Doesn't seem like the kind of face you'd forget.” 

“Doesn't seem like the kind of face you'd forget. You're going, aren't you?” 

“Where, to Ginger Man? Is that even a real club?” 

“Oh my God,” Daisy says, long suffering. She shoves Nick into his seat and reaches for her wine. “We're going clubbing after this. Nick found a boy.” 

 

Ginger Man is in fact a real club, and it's near enough that they don't even have to get a car, though they're all freezing again when they get there. Nick trades off his coat for another cocktail. His skin feels warm and his joints are a little looser than normal. It's nice. It feels nice to be out and happy and the good side of drunk. If he focuses on that, he won't think about Harry's hands on his skin. 

Ethan is already on the decks. Somehow he sees them through the flashing lights, and he raises a hand to wave. Nick waves back, feeling stupid. He turns towards the bar and nearly runs Alexa over. 

“Shit,” he says, reaching out to steady her. 

She teeters on her heels, her hands curling into his shirt. “Run me down, why don't you.” 

“What time do you call this? Thought you'd bailed on us.” 

“Daisy texted me where to meet you. I got stuck in a meeting with that perfume company.” She fixes him with a level look. “Which you'd know about if you ever answered my texts.” 

“Lex—” 

“You're being stupid,” Alexa says, because apparently no one has ever taught her how to make small talk. 

“And hello to you too,” Nick says, taken aback. 

“What the hell, Nick, you tell me you fucked Harry—” 

“I didn't fuck Harry—” 

“And then you avoid my calls for months—” 

“It's never been months.” 

“Near enough. Nick, seriously.” She curls her hand around his wrist. “What the fuck is going on with you?” 

“I haven't seen you in ages and this is how you want to—” 

“You haven't seen me because you're avoiding me.” 

“I'm not.” 

Alexa laughs meanly. ”Liar.” 

Nick pulls away to rub his eyes. “Alexa.” 

She sighs, looking more upset than Nick thought she would be. “I'm going to go tell everyone I'm here, then you and I are going to talk.” 

“Can we not?” Nick says. He can't think of anything he wants less. For the first time in ages he feels almost normal, and if Alexa makes him go through all of it tonight, he's going to scream his bloody head off. “I mean, I know you're right, and I'm sorry I've been crap, but I just...” 

“You just what?” 

“I don't want to do this tonight.” 

“Too bloody bad, Grim. I'm worried about you. Does Aimee know?” 

“Aimee doesn't know anything.” 

“And that's not weird to you? Whatever's going on, you're keeping it from Aimee, of all people? She's gonna murder you. She's gonna murder me.” 

“What does it matter, Alexa? Just leave it.” 

“I've left it for months.” 

“It's not months, for god's sake! It's four weeks.” Nick breaks off, breathing hard. His fucking chest hurts again. “He left, didn't he? Fucked off to L.A., hasn't called in ages.” 

Alexa narrows her eyes. “Since when?” 

Nick doesn't want to answer her, but if he doesn't, she's just going to badger him until he breaks down. “Since that day.” 

“Are you shitting me?” Alexa yells, her voice going shrill. “I will cut his—” 

“It doesn't matter, Alexa. It's over.” 

“It matters, Grim, of course it does. I can't bloody believe him.” 

“It was nothing.” 

“It wasn't nothing!” She's still yelling. “If it was nothing, you wouldn't be this upset.” 

“I'm not upset. I'm fine.” 

“You're fine. That's why you won't answer my texts, why you won't even look at me right now.” 

Nick is too exhausted to keep on with it. He's too exhausted for any of it, and funnily enough, it's almost a relief, getting it all out. A crowded club on a Saturday night isn't quite what he would have wanted, but now it's happened, and Nick isn't even sure he'd take it back. He spreads his hands out, palms up. “What do you want me to say, Alexa? It wasn't nothing, all right? And I'm not fine. And it still doesn't matter.” 

She sighs. “Babe. Nick. It matters to me.” 

“It doesn't matter to him.” 

Alexa's face falls. “Nick...” 

“Come on,” he says, grabbing her hand, because if he talks about this for one more second, he's going to burst into tears, and literally no one in this club wants that, least of all him. “Can we drop this? Please? There's nothing else to say, really.” 

She shoves her hair behind her ears, jaw clenched. “I'm still upset at you.” 

“I know. Come on. Let's go get pissed. Then I'll introduce you to Ethan.” 

Alexa sighs and loops her arms through his. “Who's Ethan?” 

“The very pretty boy on the deck over there. Daisy says he fancies me.” 

“Then I'm sure he does.” 

“I'm sorry I'm shit.” 

“It's fine. I'm used to it. C'mon, I'll buy you a drink.” 

“Too right you will. Making me talk about my feelings, you should be ashamed.” 

“Yeah,” Alexa says. “Shame on me.” 

Nick hugs her, hooking his chin over her shoulder. “You're the worst one.” 

“I know,” she says, patting his cheek. 

They find the others, and they're all too drunk or too generous to mention Nick's watery eyes. It's fine. Nick has another drink—his fifth or sixth of the night, but who's counting—and lets himself be pulled out onto the dance floor. Ethan is as good here as he was at Level, flawlessly weaving together every current song Nick loves with enough 80's hits to keep it from sounding like they've just turned the radio on. The energy in the club is electric, and Nick gets swept up in it. 

Later, Ethan finds him on the floor, his dark hair slicked back with sweat. He's got a pink drink in each hand. 

“Thirsty work,” Nick says, nodding at them. 

“This one's for you,” Ethan says. “As a thank you for coming.” 

“You don't need to thank me,” Nick says. “Didn't really need convincing.” 

“Well,” Ethan says. “Then it's to convince you to dance with me.” 

His gaze is hot, his eyes flickering down over Nick's chest and up to his mouth. “Don't need convincing for that either.” 

“No?” Ethan moves closer, pressing the glass into Nick's hand. 

Nick swallows hard, shakes his head, and allows himself to be moved. 

Ethan is a good dancer, more hips than anything else. He's a little taller than Nick, and Nick has to tilt his head back to look at him properly. He's just as gorgeous up close. His eyes are so dark they're almost black. 

“So what else do you do?” Nick asks. “Besides music.” 

Ethan grins. His eyes are wide and glassy. He may not have had as many as Nick, but he's not far behind. ”I don't have a boyfriend, if that's what you're asking.” 

Nick laughs. ”It's not, but good info to have.” 

“Do you?” 

It's impossible not to think about Harry then, and what he might be up to however many thousands of miles away he is. The last time Nick saw pap pictures, he was in L.A., tanned golden brown even though it's the middle of November. But Harry's gone, and Ethan isn't. 

Nick's done harder things than get over Harry Styles. Maybe he isn’t there yet, but one day he will be. “No,” he says, moving in closer so that his front brushes up against Ethan’s. “I don’t.” 

 

When he gets home, he pulls up his text thread with Harry. His thumbs up emoji is the last thing there. Not a fucking word for four weeks. Nick taps on the thread, taps _More_ , then taps _Delete All._

 

Nick forgets to turn his phone onto Airplane Mode when he goes to bed that night. He's trying to be better about it, even though he hates being cut off from everything. Daisy keeps telling him he'll get better sleep if his phone isn't constantly buzzing on the bedside table, and she's right, but he still doesn't like it. He's too drunk to remember though, so when he wakes up, his phone is lighting up with notifications. 

Groaning, Nick rolls over and thumbs the screen on as another Instagram notification comes through. 

_gryles4lyfe: cuuuuuute xxxx_

It's only when he pulls up the picture that he remembers posting it. It's him and Ethan draped over one another on the dance floor, Nick's head thrown back in laughter. His hair is wild and there's a drink spilled down his top, but it's a nice picture. Hungover as he is, looking at it makes a spark of happiness light up in Nick's stomach. 

Ethan is tagged in the picture—he must have put his name in while they were at the club—so Nick clicks over and spends a few minutes scrolling through his feed. Most of them are off his friends at shows or bars. There's a couple of an adorable puppy with ears that go in two different directions. Nick double taps one of those, then presses the follow button. 

A hot shower and two bottles of water take care of most of Nick's hangover, and some toast and tea knock out the rest. For a while, he putters around the flat, putting away washing and letting Pig chase the hoover while he tries to vacuum up the worst of her hair on the rug. He bundles up and takes her for a quick turn around the block. By the time noon rolls around, Nick is fairly sure Alexa is up. He grabs his phone and curls up on the sofa, coaxing Pig up and into his lap. 

_Hiya_ , he texts. Then, _sorry about earlier._

Almost immediately, she texts back a middle finger, then a heart emoji. 

_You all right?_

_Didn't drink nearly as much as you._

_Beat it back with some toast and a hot shower._ Then, before she can text back, he sends _tell me about this perfume thing_

__

__

__

__

_Just some print work. Should be good though._

_You get to keep the clothes?_

_Silly Nicholas. I always keep the clothes._

Nick sighs, helplessly soothed by the normality of it. He's hated keeping his friends at arm's length. Heartbreak is shit. _How long are you here?_

_Ages_ , she texts back. 

_Take you out for lunch? to apologize for being a dick?_

_If you took me out for lunch every time you were a dick you'd have to live in a box on the pavement. But yes._

They make plans for the next weekend and Nick tosses his phone onto the cushion and pulls Pig up for a cuddle. He puts on a repeat of Bake Off for the background noise and makes himself a coffee, even though it's too late in the day for it and now he won't sleep and he's got work in the morning. It's quiet in the flat, but nice. Nick almost feels normal. Too normal. He feels so normal that he doesn't even think to brace himself when his phone digs with a new text message. He leans over and picks it up. 

_New Message: ‘arry styles_

Nick recoils, staring at the phone in horror. His hands have gone clammy. He drops the phone and heaves himself off the sofa, heading straight for the kitchen and his drinks cupboard. 

_Fuck._

Nick pours himself a tumbler full of whatever's nearest and downs it in one. He braces himself against the worktop, head hanging low between his shoulders. From the other room, his phone dings again. 

“God damn it,” Nick says softly. He walks over and stares at his phone on the couch. It's just lying there innocently, like it's not holding a message with the potential to ruin his whole bloody life. Nick laughs a little, scrubbing his hands through his hair. Always dramatic, him. It's probably nothing. Of course it's nothing. The whole thing probably meant nothing to Harry. Meanwhile Nick can't stop thinking about it; he dreams about the noises Harry made when Nick pulled him this way and that, how bad he wanted it and how good he was. 

Maybe that's what's doing Nick's head in. Maybe it's not just that he got off with Harry. He's got off with plenty of friends and gone right back to normal afterwards. Maybe...maybe it's the other stuff that's making it so hard to put it down and walk away. And that's on Nick. It isn't Harry's fault if Nick went further than Harry asked him to. 

Nick's stomach sinks. Of course. Christ, no wonder Harry scarpered the first chance he got. Nick pushed too hard and freaked him out. He asked for a favor and Nick bloody mauled him. 

Nick heaves a huge sigh and walks over to the sofa, picking up his phone before he sits down and types in his passcode. 

Both messages are from Harry. Nick rubs his hand over his chin. “Piggy pig pig,” he calls softly as she totters out of the bedroom. “C’mere, smush,” he tells her, patting the sofa. She jumps up and flops down on her back, presenting her belly for rubs. “We're gonna do this, yeah? Ready? You got my back?” 

Pig wriggles closer, her tail going so hard she's making the entire sofa tremble. 

“Right. Yeah.” 

Nick braces himself and opens the messages. 

_Hey_ , says the first. 

_You around_ , says the second. 

Nick blows a breath out through his nose. There's nothing else there. Nick vaguely remembers deleting their old thread sometime in the night. It seemed like a good idea at the time, something to stop him scrolling back through their messages like a mad person and getting weepy about things like _you want curry for our tea_. It looks strange now, though, just those two messages hanging there. It's like Nick drew a line between where they were before and where they are now. 

“Fucking hell, Grim. Dramatic much?” 

Carefully, Nick types out _hiya popstar how's L.A.?_

_Hey :)_

_It's all right. Still hot. It's like 22 degrees today._

Nick laughs weakly. They've been reduced to talking about the weather. He's fucked up plenty of things in his life, but maybe never this bad. The screen goes dark as Nick passes his phone from hand to hand. He's trying to think of what to say—in his life he's never had to try to think of things to say to Harry—when Harry's next message pings. 

__you busy? Can I ring?_ _

Can he ring? Absolutely not. Nick is in no way emotionally prepared to hear Harry's voice right. 

_Sure_ , he types, hating himself with every letter. _I'm just at home._

__Next minute, his phone rings. For the briefest of moments, Nick's tempted to send it to voicemail. He doesn't, of course. “Hiya.”_ _

__“Hey,” Harry says, voice warm and so fucking familiar that Nick has to hold the phone away from his face for a second to catch his breath. “Nick?”_ _

__“Hey, sorry. You were breaking up.”_ _

__“Can you hear me?”_ _

__“Yeah, it's fine now,” Nick says. “How are you?”_ _

__“Good,” Harry says. “I'm good, yeah. How are you?”_ _

__“Good,” Nick echoes. He clears his throat. “What are you up to? It's early for you, isn't it?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Harry laughs. “I did this, like...retreat? This retreat thing. Got up every morning at five. Can't seem to shake it.”_ _

__Nick carefully doesn't think about Harry staggering out of bed and into the studio with him at the crack of dawn. Seems like a million years ago. “What sort of retreat?”_ _

__“This meditation thing?”_ _

__“Meditation? Sounds a little crunchy to me.”_ _

__“It was,” Harry says. “Ten days. Couldn't talk the whole time. I slept on this straw mat like, on the floor.”_ _

__“Oh my god,” Nick says, horrified. “Ten days? You didn't talk for ten days?”_ _

__“Ten days,” Harry says, laughing softly. “You'd have murdered someone.”_ _

__“Fuck. Ten days.”_ _

__“No phone or computer or anything. It was nice, though.”_ _

__“It was nice? To not talk for ten days? What do you do for ten days if you can't talk?”_ _

__“Meditate,” Harry says. “Ate a lot of raw vegetables. Got like, you know. Centered.”_ _

__“I'm centered enough, thanks,” Nick says, still aghast. “My god, Harry.”_ _

__Harry laughs again. He's goes quiet, but Nick can still hear him the crackling sound of him moving around on the other end of the line. “What have you been up to? I feel out of the loop.”_ _

__Nick look down, picking at the edge of a cushion. “Not much. Same ol’, really. Work. Went to some mad club last night with Aimes and everyone.”_ _

__“I saw some pictures,” Harry says._ _

__“Oh yeah?”_ _

__“Yeah. There were on everyone's feed this morning.”_ _

__“Oh. Right. I drank so many of these pink things. Surprised I'm upright today, to be honest.”_ _

__Harry's quiet again. Nick digs under one of his fingernails with the corner of a magazine. “How's Jeff? You staying with him?”_ _

__“Good, he's good. You know. Busy.”_ _

__“Right. Well. Tell him I say hello, will you?”_ _

__“Sure,” Harry says. “Listen, I need to run. I just wanted to say hello. Make sure you're...you know. Well.”_ _

__“I am,” Nick says. He pushes his free hand into his hair and pulls it, just for something to do. He can't ever remember being so uncomfortable in his entire life. He wants to delete Harry's number and chuck his phone out the window. He wants to bury his face in a pillow and scream until he goes hoarse. “It's good to hear from you. Thanks for calling.”_ _

__“Thanks for answering.”_ _

__“Course,” Nick says. “Right. Well. Bye.”_ _

__He hangs up the phone before Harry can say anything, then he goes boneless and slides to the floor. He stays there, staring mutely up at the ceiling and feeling utterly pathetic until Pig jumps on him, demanding her dinner._ _

__

__Aimee's late for lunch, which means Nick is well into a bread basket by the time she arrives, sweeping in in a leopard print coat and skintight pink jeans._ _

__“Sorry, sorry,” she says, dropping an armload of shopping bags on the floor beside the table. “Took ages to find a taxi.”_ _

__“What time do you call this? There better be something pretty for me in them,” Nick says, nodding at the bags._ _

__”Sure,” she says. “Panties or boots, take your pick.”_ _

__“Knickers. Your boots’ll never fit me.”_ _

__“Oh, and my knickers will?”_ _

__Nick shrugs. “They have before.”_ _

__Aimee rolls her eyes and flags down the waitress. “Love that top,” she tells Nick after ordering a glass of merlot. “Got enough buttons undone?”_ _

__“Feeling myself,” Nick tells her. He runs a hand over his chest. “So, um.”_ _

__Aimee pauses, hand halfway to Nick's bread basket. “Uh oh.”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__“That's your serious voice talk,” she says. She grabs a bread roll and tears it in half. “We're doing this?”_ _

__Before he can chicken out, Nick says, “I shagged Harry.”_ _

__Aimee rolls her eyes. ”I figured that out myself, thanks.”_ _

__Nick sighs. “Did Alexa tell you?”_ _

__“She didn't, but good to know you told Alexa and not me. You're not having those undies off me now.”_ _

__The waitress, having chosen that moment to appear with Aimee's wine, freezes, gaze darting back and forth between them. “Er.”_ _

__“Just leave it there, love,” Aimee says. “I'll have the prawn bruschetta and then the crispy ravioli.”_ _

__“The scampi,” Nick says, handing his menu back. “No, wait, the grilled salmon salad.”_ _

__“Oh for god's—bring him the spaghetti.”_ _

__“But these jeans are—”_ _

__“Grim, I swear to fuck—”_ _

__“Ugh, fine, the spaghetti. And a glass of wine, probably. Whatever she had. Thanks.”_ _

__The waitress looks at them like they're both mad, then hurries off to the kitchen. Nick watches her go, tapping his rings against his water glass._ _

__“So when was this? Last time he was here?”_ _

__Nick nods._ _

__“And?”_ _

__“And what?”_ _

__“That's all you want to say about it?”_ _

__Nick shrugs. “Didn't even really want to say that.”_ _

__“Why? Was it bad?”_ _

__Nick fixes her with a level look, and Aimee laughs. “No, wouldn't think so. What's the problem, then?”_ _

__“The problem,” Nick says, “is that it happened a couple of times and then he went up to Manchester to see his mum, then he fucked off to L.A. for a month without even telling me he was going.”_ _

__“So.” Aimee takes a long drink from her wine glass. “It wasn't just a one off, then.”_ _

__Nick shrugs, manfully restraining himself from dropping his head to the table._ _

__“Because your feelings are too messy for that.”_ _

__“Uuuuggghhhh,” Nick groans. “They're so revolting. It's revolting, Aimes. Disgusting. I want to block myself.”_ _

__“Block yourself...from yourself? You spend too much time on Twitter, love.”_ _

__He does, but that's beside the point. “I’m so sad and it's so stupid.”_ _

__“Why now?”_ _

__“Why am I telling you now?”_ _

__“No, I mean, why did it happen now? That shit's been in a pressure cooker for years.”_ _

__At that, Nick does drop his head to the table. It lands with a thunk and bounces a little. He's probably got breadcrumbs embedded in his giant forehead now. Great. Super. Just what he needs._ _

__“Nick?”_ _

__Nick lifts his head and rests his chin on the table. He sticks his lower lip out._ _

__“Let's not have that. You're the one who brought it up. I was giving you space and shit.”_ _

__“Because you're a good friend.”_ _

__“I'm the best friend you've got, sweetheart. Don't fuck it up now.”_ _

__“Ugh, fine. It wasn't like...” Nick sits back in his chair, trying to figure out exactly how much he ought to tell her. It feels disloyal to spill Harry's kinky secrets, but if Nick doesn't get it all out his heart's going to shatter and murder him. “You're right. It wasn't just a shag.”_ _

__Aimee raises one perfectly arched eyebrow. “What was it, then?”_ _

__“It was...so it started because he was stressed out about something, right? He was anxious and I ended up like...oh god, I was petting him?”_ _

__An evil smirk spreads slowly across Aimee's face. “Petting him? Oh god, that's delicious. No wonder you didn't want to tell me.”_ _

__“That's not even the worst of it.”_ _

__“I'm so happy,” she says, clapping her hands together. “Go on, tell me the worst of it.”_ _

__At this point, Nick can't back himself out of this. He doesn't really even want to. “He might have a thing for having his hair pulled.”_ _

__“He might,” Aimee says, sounding delighted, “or he does?”_ _

__Nick whimpers. “He does.”_ _

__“And how many times did you find this out?”_ _

__“Two? Well, two with just the hair. And two with...” He flaps a hand. “Two with the other stuff.”_ _

__“The other stuff,” Aimee repeats. “The other stuff. I should make you say the whole thing out loud, just for keeping me in the dark so long. The other stuff, like you're thirteen and—”_ _

__“Aimes, he went to California. He fucked off to some silent meditation retreat. I messed him up so bad he had to go sit in the corner on a straw mat and not talk for ten days.”_ _

__“Oh my god,” Aimee says, pressing her long fingernails to her temples. “It's so much worse than I thought. And you've what? Talked to him now? How did you know about his corner sitting?”_ _

__“He called the other day. I had like, deleted our entire text thread.”_ _

__“Had a little tantrum, did you?”_ _

__Nick sits up in his chair as the waitress appears with their food. He scrubs his forehead to get rid of any wayward breadcrumbs. “What do I do now?”_ _

__Aimee sighs and slides some bruschetta onto Nick's plate. “I'm not sure there's anything you can do, sweetheart.”_ _

__“No,” Nick says pathetically. “I want a better answer. A different friend. I want a friendier friend with a better answer.”_ _

__“You want I should call Alexa for you?”_ _

__“Oh my god, I'm never going to hear the end of that, am I?”_ _

__“I wouldn't think so, no.” She cuts into one of her bruschetta and blows on it. “I guess the question is, what do you want to do?”_ _

__It's a simple question, but there's no simple answer. Part of Nick wants to go back in time and stop the whole thing from happening. Part of him wants to damn the torpedoes and book a ticket to LAX. What he finally says is, “I want to not be sad.”_ _

__The look Aimee gives him is soft. “A broken heart'll do that to you.”_ _

__Nick's throat goes dry. “My heart's not broken.”_ _

__“No?”_ _

__Nick cuts into his pasta and doesn't answer. “Wine's good.”_ _

__“I have excellent taste,” Aimee says. “Thank you for telling me.”_ _

__He lifts a shoulder. ”Thanks for not killing me.”_ _

__Aimee laughs and picks up her wine. “The night's still young.”_ _

__When they finish eating, Nick pays for their dinner and drives them both back to his flat, where he makes Aimee try on everything she bought that day and she makes him try on a pair of her new knickers, which fit too well for either of them to be comfortable with._ _

Afterwards, Aimee curls up on the sofa with her feet in Nick's lap and texts Ian that she's spending the night there. Nick takes ten pictures of her and posts the best one to Instagram with the caption _beeeest bud_ and about seventeen hearts. 

__The notifications start popping up on his screen. He silences his phone so the dings won't wake Aimee just as a notification from Harry scrolls past._ _

__Nick startles, turning his phone screen down on the sofa beside him._ _

__There's a battle going on inside him, a war between what he wants from Harry and what he can have. Nick sighs, frustrated. He knew better than to let anything happen between them, but it did, and now Nick's got to figure out how to get all the pieces back together in some semblance of order. Harry's clearly making the effort. Nick can too. He doesn't have to like it, but he can at least make the effort._ _

Nick picks up his phone and opens up his text messages. He finds Harry's number, then scrolls through the recent pictures on his camera. Nothing fun, except another of the pictures of Aimee, this one with Pig standing on top of her. Her tail's going so fast it's a white blur. Nick selects it and underneath, types _need a bigger sofa._ He hits _send._

__

__

__Almost immediately, the three speech dots that mean Harry's typing pop up on the screen. Nick waits, breath caught in his throat._ _

_But I like your sofa_

__“Jesus fucking Christ,” Nick says softly. He has to get up off the sofa and go stand in the back garden, because he's sure the thunder of his heart is going to wake Aimee up. He sucks in the cold night air, trying to let it fortify him. Harry didn't mean anything by that. He can't have. It's just Nick's hyperactive imagination, run away with him again._ _

__Before he can work out what to send back, another message pops up on the screen._ _

_Give her a hug from me._

Nick steadies his fingers and types _Aimee or Pig?_

_Both :)_

___You got it, popstar_ _ _

__

__Ethan is the most beautiful man Nick has ever been in the same room with, and that's saying something. He isn't hilariously funny, but he thinks Nick is, and those facts combined are enough for Nick to agree to go shopping with him on Friday afternoon. They meet up at the Westfield at Shepherds Bush, where Ethan spends 45 minutes in H &M trying on various pairs of what appear to be the exact same black boot. Nick gets bored 20 minutes in and wanders over to a rack of lurid tops. He takes a picture of a nightmarish hot pink one with mud-brown flowers sewn in and sends it to Harry. _ _

_Not my size :(_

_I'll alert the police._

__Nick sends the same picture to Daisy, who responds with ten horrified faces, then to Aimee, who asks him to buy it for her._ _

__“You buying that?” Ethan asks, appearing at his side with a shoe box tucked under his arm._ _

__“My mate Aimes wants it, but there are bridges I won't cross even for her.”_ _

__Ethan laughs and tilts his head to the side. “If those flowers weren't brown...”_ _

__“If the flowers weren't brown I'd buy it for myself._ _

__“Alas.”_ _

__“Alas.”_ _

__“You want to look at anything else?” Ethan asks, switching the shoes to his other arm._ _

__What Nick really wants is a skin cream that takes ten years off his face so he looks like a person who might reasonably be allowed to hang out with Ethan. And also for his head to not be such a fucking disaster. That might be nice. “Dunno. Been wanting some new cushions for my sofa.”_ _

__“Cushions for your sofa. You're such a grown up.”_ _

__“I used kitchen roll as a coffee filter this morning.”_ _

__Ethan laughs again. ”So you need coffee filters and cushions.”_ _

__“And kitchen roll.”_ _

__“And kitchen roll. Anything else?”_ _

__Nick's stomach rumbles. “And something for my tea.”_ _

__“Oh, I could murder a curry. You like curry?”_ _

__“Who doesn't like curry?”_ _

__“Mad people,” Ethan says. ”There's a good one back near my flat. Go there all the time with my mates. I took the tube here, but you could leave your car at mine and we could walk. It's only just down the road.”_ _

__“Have they got good tandoori chicken?”_ _

__“Have they got good tandoori chicken, what kind of question is that?”_ _

__Nick holds up his hands. “Just checking, love. All right, then, lead the way.”_ _

__“You don't need kitchen roll?”_ _

__“I'll stop at the shop on the way home. Proper starving now, me.”_ _

__“Let's feed you, then. Just gotta pay for these first,” Ethan says, holding up his boots._ _

__“You finally found a pair, then?”_ _

__“Finally? We've been here less than an hour. I thought you were made of sterner stuff.”_ _

__“Gonna give you a dead arm in a second, you keep that up,” Nick says, and Ethan dances away, laughing._ _

__He pays for the boots, then follows Nick out to the car park. He whistles as Nick unlocks the doors and slides behind the wheel._ _

__“Nice car.”_ _

__Nick blushes a little, looking over his shoulder to back out of his parking spot. He loves his car. Loves it. Drives everyone mad the way he babies it, but whatever. They can get stuffed. “Thanks,” he says, straightening out the wheel and changing gear. “You gonna direct me or what?”_ _

__“You're heading for Tooting,” Ethan says. He's running his hand over the leather of the console, H &M bag perched in his lap. He's looking up directions on his phone with his other hand. _ _

__Nick follows the signs pointing to the exit and waves off Ethan's attempt to give him some money for the parking. He pulls out onto the main road._ _

__It's a bit of a drive out to Ethan's. Ethan can't leave the radio on one song all the way through, and he keeps changing the track. Nick eventually smacks his hand away and pulls up some vintage Britney. If Ethan doesn't like Toxic, he can tube it back to Tooting._ _

__Nick parks his car on the road near Ethan's flat and they walk down to the restaurant, stopping in the Lidl across the road to pick up a few beers to take in with them because it's bring your own. The bag bangs against Nick's leg as they cross the road._ _

__It's really cold out, the sort of weather that sneaks in under your jumper and steals your breath. If Nick were with Doug, or Aimee, or even Harry, he'd whinge and steal their scarf off them, but he's still figuring Ethan out. He's not sure what they are. Is this the start of a friendship, or something else? Ethan is gorgeous, ethereally so, and in a way that flattens Nick, whose friends usually fill up the covers of the magazine shelf in the supermarket. He's nice and he laughs at Nick's jokes, and normally, that would be enough for Nick to be interested._ _

__But something has shifted, and even though he knows exactly what it is, Nick refuses to let himself think about it. Especially today, when Ethan is putting his hand to the small of Nick's back and guiding him into the restaurant, and the familiar smells of curry and naan are filling Nick's nose._ _

__Compartmentalization. Nick is brilliant at it. God knows he's had enough bloody practice._ _

__“I know you said tandoori chicken,” Ethan says as they slide into their seats, “but the vegetable dopiaza is wicked brilliant here.”_ _

__Nick pauses, peering at Ethan over his menu. “Are you veggie? I don't have to order meat if you're veggie.”_ _

__“God no. I just thought I'd let you know. Had it last time and it was ace.”_ _

__“No reason we can't get both, yeah?”_ _

__Ethan grins. “Order whatever you like. It's all delicious.”_ _

__Nick folds his menu and lays it on the table. “I went totally veggie once. No milk or anything.”_ _

__“What, vegan?”_ _

__“Yep. Healthiest half hour of my life.”_ _

__Ethan grins. “Bet it did you a world of good. Probably lowered your blood pressure about 30 points.”_ _

__“Oh my god,” Nick groans. “How old are you? My friends never used to talk about blood pressure.”_ _

__“Twenty-one,” Ethan says. “Old enough to do whatever I want, anywhere. Pretty much.”_ _

__“Twenty-one,” Nick repeats. “Twenty-one. Fuck me, I need botox.”_ _

__The laughter that bursts out of Ethan makes the people at the nearest tables look over their shoulders in disapproval. When he stops laughing, he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and says “Please don't. I'd be so sad if your face stopped doing all the things it does.”_ _

__“That sounds like both an insult and a compliment.”_ _

__“It's a compliment,” Ethan says. He props his elbow on the table and cups his chin in his hand. “Take it as one.”_ _

__Nick's heart gives a feeble kick. “Hmm,” he says, unfolding his napkin and spreading it across his lap. “We'll see.”_ _

__In the end, they order poppadoms and onion bhajis and vegetable samosas to go with their tandoori chicken, veggie dopiaza, and lamb dhansak, as well as a naan the size of a car tyre. Nick had planned to skip the simple carbs—being heartbroken is no reason to eat like you're heartbroken—but it's hard to pass up a piece of bread the size of a small child for a couple of quid. Besides, Ethan says their chutney is delicious, and Nick's never met a sauce he didn't like._ _

__Nick takes a couple of pictures of the food spread out on the table and, after they're done, posts one to Instagram._ _

_93 per cent curry_

__He tags Ethan, then searches the name of the restaurant and adds it as well._ _

__“Can I post this?” Ethan asks, holding out his phone._ _

__Nick takes it and looks down at the picture. Ethan must have just taken it, because in it, Nick is looking down at his phone, his head bent low. Ethan's already added a filter: Claredon, Nick’s favorite one._ _

__“Gorgeous,” Ethan says, when Nick looks back up at him. “Didn't even need the botox.”_ _

__Nick smiles and hands the phone back. “Did need a filter, though.”_ _

__“We all need a filter every now and then. So yes to posting it?”_ _

__“Sure, yeah. You might get...” Nick trails off, not quite sure how to phrase it. “There are some people who search my name, so you might get...like...comments.”_ _

__Ethan rolls his eyes and pokes his phone. “I get it, love, you're famous.”_ _

__When the notification comes up on Nick's screen, he opens the picture and double taps it._ _

__“Love your own face, do you?”_ _

__“You're about to talk me out of buying dinner, my good man.”_ _

__Ethan mimes zipping his lips. Nick flips him off, but he does pay for dinner._ _

__“What have you got this weekend?” he asks, once they're back out on the pavement. “Playing at Ginger Man again?”_ _

__“As a matter of fact, I am playing at Ginger Man tomorrow night. I need to go pick out some music, probably.”_ _

__“Need any help?”_ _

__Ethan turns to look at him. “Really? I would love that.”_ _

__“Sure,” Nick says. ”I don't know if you've heard, but music is kind of my thing.”_ _

__“Funny,” Ethan says. “I thought humility was your thing.”_ _

__“You're a nightmare,” Nick says, delighted. He slides his hand into the crook of Ethan's arm. Even if he can’t muster up any particular attraction to Ethan, he hopes he can keep him around as a friend. He’s wonderful. “I can't ever let you spend time with Aimee.”_ _

__“I'm going to invite her round to Ginger Man,” Ethan says. He slides his hand down and threads his fingers through Nick's._ _

__Nick swallows hard and tightens his grip on the bag with the leftover beer in. Ethan keeps holding his hand all the way back to his flat, only letting go to dig his keys out of his pocket._ _

__“It's a bedsit, I'm afraid,” he says, pushing the door open, “Not what you're used to, but I like it.”_ _

__It's a small studio flat, but there's a big bay window on one wall and a spread of old theatre and DJ posters on the other. A small squashy sofa is pushed up under the window, and there's an unmade bed in the corner. Ethan drops his H &M bag on the sofa as a tiny brown and white dog pops her head out of the blankets. One ear is pointing at the ceiling, the other straight forward. Nick's heart melts. He's going to steal her. Going to put her under his jumper and smuggle her right out. _ _

__Ethan pats his leg. “C'mere, Lulu,” he says, and the dog jumps off the bed and sprints over to them. She's the size of half a loaf of bread. Nick feels his face do something awful. He sinks down to the floor and holds out his arms._ _

__“Lulu,” he whispers. “Lulu, come here, baby.”_ _

__Lulu bypasses Ethan and runs straight over to Nick, her teeny tiny paws moving so fast Nick can hardly see them. She hops up, putting her two front feet on Nick's thigh, and bangs her teeny tiny face into Nick's hand._ _

__“Oh no,” he says. “I love you.”_ _

__Ethan laughs, pushing himself up. “Hand me the beers. I’ll put them in the fridge. Unless you want one now?”_ _

__“What?” Nick says, dragging his gaze away from where Lulu is nudging Nick so he'll keep petting her. There's rhinestones all over her pink collar. Nick wants to die._ _

__“Beer,” Ethan says. He leans down to pick up the bag. “Do you want one?”_ _

__“I don't want anything except the love of this dog,” Nick says. He sits down cross-legged and pulls Lulu into his lap. “Why is she so small? Is she a puppy? Lulu, why are you so eensy? Why are you the smallest dog in all of London?”_ _

__“She's two, so no. She's a bleeding menace. Keeps eating my shoes.”_ _

__“Oh no, don't be a cliché. Let's be better than that, okay, darling?”_ _

__Lulu bites Nick's finger and spins around three times before jumping off his lap and running back to the bed._ _

__“Thank god,” Ethan says. “Thought I was going to have to pick music out all by myself.”_ _

__“You still might,” Nick says. “I've not given up yet.”_ _

__“Now do you want a beer?”_ _

__Nick looks up, considering. He already had two at dinner, and if he has a third, he won't be legal to drive home, and he's not sure he's ready for whatever might happen if he stays at Ethan's. He can't really forget about the bed in the corner, rumpled and inviting. “Maybe in a bit,” he says. “Let's see this music.”_ _

__“Laptop's right there,” Ethan says, waving at the cluttered coffee table in front of the sofa. “We can start with what’s on it.”_ _

__Nick grabs the laptop and folds himself up on the sofa, taking the glass of water Ethan offers him. “What sort of vibe are we going for?”_ _

__Ethan pulls his phone out of his pocket and sits down beside him. “It’s 80’s night again, but some fresher stuff too, I think. I want people to lose their damn minds.”_ _

__“Hella fresh retro funk,” Nick says. “Got it.”_ _

__“Exactly,” Ethan says. He looks down at his phone and hums. “Well that's a thing.”_ _

__Nick looks up. “What's a thing?”_ _

__Ethan tosses him the phone._ _

_harrystyles liked your photo_

__“Is that Harry Styles, Harry Styles? Your Harry Styles?”_ _

__Nick takes the phone right up to his face. “Yeah,” he says. ”I mean, he's not mine, but yeah.” He taps the notification and Instagram pops open, right to the image Ethan posted earlier. It's got 94 likes—including one from Harry._ _

__Nick hands the phone back to Ethan, eyes hot and gritty. He sets his water on the table. His hands are shaking; he thinks it'll probably take a long time for them to stop._ _

__That's it, then. If Harry is trying to send a message, that one's coming through loud and clear._ _

__“Did you tell him about me?”_ _

__What's there to tell? Nick clears the tickle out of the back of his throat. But before he can think of something to say, his phone rings._ _

__“Sorry,” Nick says, digging his phone out of his pocket._ _

__He looks down at the screen._ _

_Incoming Call: ‘arry styles_

__A weak laugh escapes Nick's throat. Of course. Of. Fucking. Course._ _

__He presses the _Decline_ button. Two second later, his phone rings again. _ _

_Incoming Call: ‘arry styles_

__“You need to get that?” Ethan asks._ _

__“No,” Nick says, but he stabs the _Answer_ button anyway. “Hey.” _ _

__There's a pause long enough for Nick to think Harry's somehow managed to pocket-dial him twice in a row. He's about to hang up when Harry speaks._ _

__“Nick.”_ _

__Nick holds up one finger and gives Ethan an apologetic look. “Give me one second.”_ _

__Ethan nods as Harry says “Fine.”_ _

__“Not you,” Nick says into the phone. He stands up and looks around, wanting somewhere else to take the call, but in a bedsit, there's not much of a place to hide. He settles for walking into the tiny bathroom and pressing himself into the far corner. To Ethan, he says “Sorry, give me just a minute.”_ _

__“Who are you talking to?”_ _

__“I'm at a friend's house.”_ _

__“Ethan?” Harry says, voice flat._ _

__”That's the one,” he says, forcing himself to sound cheerful. Inside his chest aches. This is it, he thinks. This is what heartbreak feels like. “Didn't know you knew him.”_ _

__“Saw him all over your feed,” Harry says, and it occurs to Nick that Harry's voice isn't flat; it's angry._ _

__It's like whiplash. One second, he was sure Harry was trying to send some message, that he was over it and glad Nick had moved on. Now, Harry’s ringing him and talking in a tight voice that Nick’s never heard before. Nick can’t make sense of it._ _

__It's so ridiculous. The entire situation is ridiculous. He knows he should hang up the phone and go back to the sofa, where Ethan is sat with his nose in his laptop, like Nick isn’t have a hushed conversation with an international popstar six feet away. Ethan is gorgeous and sweet and wants to hold Nick's hand. Harry is five thousand miles away and..._ _

__And he's Harry. He's still Harry, whether he's on the other side of the room or the other side of the world. That's the real crux of it, isn't it? Ethan is wonderful, but he isn't Harry._ _

__Nick closes his eyes and presses his head against the bathroom cabinet. Sometimes he thinks he hates Harry. Sometimes he thinks he hates himself._ _

__“Not all over, but yeah. Went shopping and had some food.”_ _

__“You were shopping with him? Is that—did you send me that picture when you were with him?”_ _

__Nick huffs a laugh. “Yeah, H. Were you on his feed? Saw you liked one of his pictures.”_ _

__“I didn't.”_ _

__“He showed me.”_ _

__“Oh, he showed you, did he? Isn't that cozy.”_ _

__Nick, who was already whispering, lowers his voice. He's practically hissing now. Ethan has got up and gone over to the little kitchen area, Lulu following at his heels. Nick wants to walk out into the road and let himself get hit by the next passing bus. “What were you doing on his feed anyway? Were you checking up on me?”_ _

__“So fucking what if I was?”_ _

__“So fucking—are you serious with this? Are you pissed off at me?”_ _

__“Fuck you, Nick.”_ _

__“Fuck me? Fuck me? I cannot believe you right now, Harry. Ethan is—”_ _

__“Don't,” Harry says sharply. “Don't say his name to me.”_ _

__“You are unbelievable,” Nick says the split second before the line goes dead._ _

__Pulse racing, Nick pockets his phone and walks back into the main room. He sits down on the sofa and presses his cold hands to his mouth._ _

__He's never had a row with Harry, not a proper one. They've had quarrels, but they've never shouted at one another like that. And they were shouting, they had to have been, because Ethan went to hide in the corner. He comes back a minute later, walking over and stopping in front of Nick with his mouth set in a grim line._ _

__“If I'm getting in the middle of something, you should have told me.”_ _

__Nick drops his head into his hands. “Ethan.”_ _

__“I don't love looking like an idiot.”_ _

__“You're not. Ethan, you don't, I swear. I know it's cliché to say, but trust me, this has nothing to do with you.”_ _

__“I suppose it's not my business to ask what it does have to do with.”_ _

__Nick laughs, shaking his head. “I couldn't tell you. I have no idea.”_ _

__Ethan rubs a hand over the back of his neck, looking out the window. “I think you probably do.”_ _

__“I'm gonna go,” Nick says, standing up. “This was—sorry, this was...” He's grabs his coat and shrugs it on. “Tell Lulu bye from me, will you?”_ _

__One corner of Ethan's mouth curves up. “Yeah. Thanks for the food. Do you want to take the other beers with you?”_ _

__“No no, you keep them,” Nick says. He moves toward the door. “Sorry about the—” He waves a hand. “Anyway. Bye.”_ _

__Nick escapes into the cold London night. He fumbles his keys out of his pocket and tries to remember which way his car is. Blindly, he stumbles down the road and climbs in._ _

__He's ten minutes up the road before he thinks to turn the heating on. He's so furious he hardly needs it. He's burning up with rage. His phone keeps dinging, and Nick yanks it out of his pocket and silences it without even glancing at it. It could be Prince Harry on the phone, and Nick wouldn't want to talk to him. His mind is whirling, going over and over what Harry said to him, and what he said back._ _

__Honestly, fuck Harry. He doesn’t get to decide who Nick does and doesn’t spend time with, especially not when he’s taken himself out of the equation._ _

__By the time Nick gets home, he's whipped himself into such a frenzy he nearly breaks his key off in the lock trying to wrench the door open. If Pig senses his mood, she doesn't show it. She runs up to him, happy as can be. Nick storms over to the back door and lets her out into the garden, where she proceeds to sniff every blade of grass twice._ _

__In his back pocket, his phone vibrates._ _

__Nick yanks it free and glares at the screen._ _

_Incoming call: ‘arry styles_

__“For fuck's sake,” Nick yells, jamming his finger onto the answer button. “Bloody what, Harry?”_ _

__Harry inhales sharply. ”I've been calling you for over an hour,” he snaps._ _

__“I didn't particularly want to speak to you. Pig, let's go inside.”_ _

__“Wow,” Harry says. “That's—”_ _

“No,” Nick cuts him off, voice shaking with barely controlled anger. “No, you don't get to act shocked. Pig, let's _go._ ” 

__“Don't yell at your dog because you're pissed off at me.”_ _

__“Don't fucking tell me what to do. Seriously, what the fuck do you want? I can't even stand to hear your voice right now.”_ _

__Pig runs past Nick and jumps on the couch, burrowing down under her favorite cushion. Nick grabs an entire fistful of treats for her to make up for raising his voice. His chest aches. He feels awful. He feels fucking awful._ _

__On the other end of the line, Harry isn't speaking. Nick sinks down on the couch and braces himself for whatever it is Harry's working up to._ _

__“Were you at his place? Is that why you didn't answer.”_ _

__“So what if I was?” Nick’s voice is shaking. His hands are shaking. His entire soul is going to shake loose of his body. “Why are you acting like such a dick? I'm allowed to have other friends, you know. Especially when you’re on the other side of the world.”_ _

__“Is that what he is?” Harry bites out. “A friend?”_ _

__“How's that your business?”_ _

__“Fine,” Harry says. “Here's a better question. Is that what I am?”_ _

__Nick laughs, though nothing in his life has ever been less funny. “Hard to say.”_ _

__“Wow. Wow. Fuck you so much for saying that to me.”_ _

__“Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to,” Nick says, feeling brittle and mean._ _

__On the other side of the world, Harry inhales sharply. “Did you sleep with him?”_ _

__“Did I—are you serious?”_ _

__“Did you? Did you fuck him, Nick? Was it as good with him as it was with me? Was he as good for you as I am?”_ _

__Nick goes suddenly, blindingly hard. “You arsehole,” he whispers. “You complete fuck. What does it matter how he is?”_ _

__“So you did sleep with him.”_ _

__“You left!’ Nick shouts. He’s up off the sofa, unable to be still. He could run a thousand miles right now. “Fucked right off, didn't you? So what does it matter who I do and don’t fuck?”_ _

__“I'm right here, Grim.”_ _

__“No you’re fucking not! You left. You didn't even tell me you were going, did you? What was I—” He chokes on the words. “What was I supposed to do?”_ _

__“You could have waited a—”_ _

__“It’s been a month! A bloody month! You’re gone, Harry. You just…fuck, you just left. What did you think was going to happen?”_ _

__“I didn’t think! Is that what you want me to say? That I’m stupid and selfish, and I panicked?_ _

__There’s a headache starting up at the base of Nick’s skull. He grabs it with one hand, clenching his phone with the other. “I don’t want you to say anything, H. I don’t even want to talk to you.”_ _

__He’s half expecting Harry to hang up on him. God knows one of them needs to. They’ve hurt each other enough for one night. What he’s not expecting are the next words that come out of Harry’s mouth._ _

__“I can’t stop thinking about you.”_ _

__Nick shuts his eyes. His heart is slamming around wildly in his chest. “Don’t.”_ _

__“I want to touch you,” he goes on, like Nick hadn't spoken. Like thirty seconds ago they weren't yelling the roof off. “I can't stop thinking about it. Every second since I left, every moment since I got on that stupid fucking plane, all I can think about is the way you taste.”_ _

__“Harry.” Nick says warningly. He’s still hard. His dick is pressing up against the front of his jeans, just from the sound of Harry’s voice and the thought of him. Images flash across the backs of Nick’s eyelids: Harry with his head tipped back, throat exposed; Harry beneath him, eyes wild; Harry’s hair tangled in his fists._ _

__Harry. Always Harry. It’s never anything else._ _

__“Don’t you think about it? Don’t you think about me? About how good it was? About how good we were?”_ _

__“Doesn’t matter how good we were if you’re not here.”_ _

__“What if I was there?” Harry says. “What would you do if I was there?”_ _

__“Strangle you.”_ _

__Harry laughs. It’s a soft sound, and so familiar that Nick could curl up and use it as a blanket._ _

__Nick sighs, leaning back against the wall. “God, I want you.”_ _

__On the other end, there’s some shuffling. A door shuts. Harry’s breathing’s coming heavier down the line now, and it’s killing Nick to know what Harry sounds like when he’s turned on, but he can’t unknow it. He can’t forget the way the sounds he makes, or the way he moves. It’s all Nick can think about. It’s on a loop in his head, killing him a little bit every moment._ _

__“Where are you?” Harry asks._ _

__“Home,” Nick says. He’s giving himself up to it now. He’s already a hundred feet down the slippery slope; he’s been there since the moment he pulled Harry between his legs and breathed in his skin. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s been there since way before that. “Standing in my kitchen.”_ _

__Harry huffs a laugh. “Sexy.”_ _

__“Fine,” Nick tells him, pushing himself off the wall and going to his bedroom. He shuts the door and strips off his shirt. “I’m spread out on some satin sheets wearing nothing but a silk nightie and a smile.”_ _

__Harry makes an interested sound. “Let’s come back to that later.”_ _

__Later. Nick shuts his eyes and doesn’t let himself think about later. He kicks off his shoes and crawls onto his bed. “What about you?”_ _

__“Am I in a silk nightie?” Harry says. “Why, do you want me to be?”_ _

__“What I want is you to shut your mouth, you maniac.”_ _

__Harry laughs again. “Bit hard to do this over the phone with my mouth shut, yeah?”_ _

__“Bit hard to do it in person that way too.”_ _

__“I wish it was in person,” Harry says softly. “God, I wish I was there. Wish I could touch you.”_ _

__Nick swallows hard and unbuttons his jeans. “Touch me where?”_ _

__“Fuck, everywhere. Do everything I didn’t get to do before. I was so scared, Nick. Didn’t want to push you, yeah? Wanted to be so good. Wanted to be so good for you, show you I was worth it. But you were so—”_ _

__Nick gasps, sliding a hand into his pants. “So what?”_ _

__“So…much,” Harry says. “Felt like I was gonna lose my mind with wanting you. Wanted you to fuck me. Wanted to get on my knees and let you fuck my throat and pull my hair and—”_ _

__A million times Nick’s imagined what it would be like to take Harry to bed. To spread him out and take his time and fuck him the way he wants to. That image—Harry on his knees with Nick’s hands in his hair and his dick down Harry’s throat—it’s the one thing Nick never allows himself to think about. He groans, low and deep, dragging his fingers up the underside of his dick._ _

__“Yeah?” Harry says. “You want that?”_ _

__“Yes,” Nick hisses, pushing up into his fist. “Bet you’re so pretty like that.”_ _

__“On my knees for you.”_ _

__“On your knees for me. Such a good boy like that, aren’t you?”_ _

__It’s Harry’s turn to moan; the sound lights Nick up from the inside. His pulse is pounding in his wrists, and his throat, and up around his ears. It’s thudding between his legs, where his hand is working over the length of his cock. Vaguely, he wishes he’d stopped and got some lube out of the bedside table, but he can’t force himself to stop and do it now. The only thing that matters is Harry’s voice in his ear, whining, telling Nick he’d be, “so good. So good for you. God, wanna give you everything.”_ _

__It sounds like a line, but Nick can’t make himself care. He wants to take everything Harry’s offering and then a little more besides. “Are you—”_ _

__“Yeah,” Harry says. “You’re—“_ _

__“Fuck yes,” Nick says, making Harry laugh breathlessly. “So bloody turned on.”_ _

__“Me too,” Harry says. “I’m so hard, fuck. Feels so good.”_ _

__“What else do you want?”_ _

__Harry moans, long and drawn out. “Want you to fuck me,” he says. “Proper fuck me. Slick me up and pin me down.”_ _

__“Pull your hair.”_ _

“Nick,” Harry says, then he says it again and again, panting it out as Nick breathes up at the ceiling. “Wish I could see you. Wish I could taste you, fuck, Nick, want you to hold me down and come down my throat and _fuck_ me.” 

__That’s all it takes. Nick bows up off the bed and comes into his fist, Harry’s name caught between his teeth. He wishes it was Harry’s hands on his body, but the feeling slams through him all the same, almost painful in its intensity. It’s just like everything else with Harry: a knife edge between too much and not enough._ _

__Down the line, Harry’s breath is coming quick, and Nick can hear the sounds he’s making as he pulls himself off._ _

__“Let me hear you,” he says. “Come for me, love, show me what a good boy you are.”_ _

__Harry makes a sharp, bitten off noise; Nick shuts his eyes as his dick gives a faint throb. He imagines pressing his body down the length of Harry’s, feeling him shudder with the pleasure coursing through him._ _

__They come down together, their panted breathing turning into something softer and easier. Nick wipes his hand off on the sheets and rolls over, curling into a question mark with his phone cradled between his cheek and his pillow. He doesn’t want to speak first, doesn’t want to shatter the fragile peace between them._ _

__Eventually, Harry clears his throat. “You ok?”_ _

__Nick laughs softly. “Not too bad. You?”_ _

__There’s a long pause before Harry whispers, “I miss you.”_ _

__Nick squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to think about how it would feel—how it would really feel—to have Harry. “I haven’t gone anywhere, love.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Harry says. He sighs. “I should let you get on. It’s late.”_ _

__It isn’t, but Nick doesn’t call him on it. Instead he sits up and reaches for his bedside lamp. “Talk later?”_ _

__“Course,” Harry says. “And Nick…”_ _

__Nick waits._ _

__Harry makes a soft, frustrated noise. “Have a good night, yeah?”_ _

__“Yeah, Haz. You too.”_ _

__

__In an attempt to salvage their burgeoning friendship, Nick talks Ethan into coming round for a late lunch on Sunday afternoon. Ethan shows up with a bottle of wine and a mad plan about not renewing the lease on his flat to move into a van and travel the continent. He pulls up a series of YouTube videos where people have converted old transit vans into tiny little homes on wheels. They’re so small Nick feels claustrophobic just looking at them. Where would he put his shoes, or his jumpers? Where would he put Pig?_ _

__He pauses the video right in the middle of a very pretty American with far too many white teeth explaining how a big bucket with a lid is going to double as a compost and a toilet. “You’re not going to poo in a bucket,” Nick says, turning to stare at Ethan. “Please tell me you’re not giving up your flat so you can live in a van and poo in a bucket.”_ _

__“It’s an emergency toilet,” Ethan says. “For emergency poos.”_ _

__“What about all the other poos?”_ _

__“Services,” Ethan says, shrugging. “All sorts of shops have public toilets.”_ _

“You can’t live your life going round pooing in public,” Nick says, horrified. “ _Ethan._ ” 

__“You’re not seeing the good bits,” Ethan says. He pulls up another video. “I could travel everywhere, yeah? See everything. Climb mountains and sleep under stars.”_ _

__Nick makes a face. “That sounds awful.”_ _

__“Traveling the world sounds awful?”_ _

__“Traveling the world with a poo bucket in tow? Yeah, love, it does.”_ _

__Ethan rolls his eyes and points at the screen. “Look, this one has a hammock.”_ _

__“That’ll be nice on your back.”_ _

__“You, Nicholas Grimshaw, are a snob.”_ _

__Nick shakes his head. “If living in a place with running water and sushi delivery makes me a snob, so be it.”_ _

__Ethan laughs, shutting the laptop. “Sushi for lunch, then?” He whistles. “Didn’t know you could get sushi delivered. Usually only a curry for me.”_ _

__“Whatever you like,” Nick says. “Doesn’t have to be sushi. My shout.”_ _

__“No, sushi sounds brilliant. And it’s on me; you bought last time.”_ _

__“And I’m buying again this time. I’m just, you know.” Nick shrugs. “To make up for Friday.”_ _

__Ethan sighs, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs. They’re nice thighs, really. Nick should be more interested in them. He forces himself to check them out, but mostly just winds up thinking that his sofa cushions could do with a refresh._ _

__“You don’t have to make up for anything,” Ethan says. “It wasn’t a big deal.”_ _

__“It felt a little…” Nick holds up his hands and makes a face. “You know?”_ _

__“It was a little—” Ethan says, making what must be an approximation of the face Nick just made, “but we’ve all got shit, right? None of us are wandering around without any baggage in tow.”_ _

__“Right,” Nick says. “Absolutely.” He stands up and rubs his hands together. The whole conversation is like a wool blanket: itchy and uncomfortable, and Nick can’t wait to shake it off. “Sushi?”_ _

__“Sushi,” Ethan says. “I should enjoy that posh north London delivery while I can.”_ _

__“Before you go to live in the poo van,” Nick says. “Before you’re lost to me forever.”_ _

__“You’re not going to come visit me? Take you for a spin around Spain.”_ _

__“I will in fact not be visiting you in the poomobile, but whenever you’re in London I’ll let you do your washing here. How’s that sound?”_ _

__“A fair trade off,” Ethan says. “Get me some edamame, will you?”_ _

__They order enough sushi to feed four people, unable to decide on yellowfin tuna or salmon. Ethan wants noodles and Nick starts craving soup right in the middle of typing their order into Deliveroo._ _

__“Hooray,” he says, once his phone has dinged with a confirmation. “Sushi incoming.”_ _

__“Thank goodness,” Ethan says. “I’m starving.”_ _

__“Want a drink while we wait? Crack open that wine you brought?”_ _

__“Sure,” Ethan says. “I am, after all, extremely posh.”_ _

__Nick laughs and heads into the kitchen. Ethan is funny, funnier than Nick thought he was at the start. And he’s so bloody nice and unbelievably beautiful. He’s the total package. Nick should be gagging for it. It unnaturally, really. Nick should be doing everything he can to work Ethan toward the bedroom. As it is, he’s more excited about the prospect of that spicy tuna roll._ _

__“So what about your DJing?” Nick says, once they’ve poured the wine and made their way back into the living room with Pig curled up on the floor beneath the table. “Will you work while you're travelling or what?”_ _

__“I’m not sure. I’m still in the planning stages, you know? Figuring out the money and everything.”_ _

__“You could start one of them YouTube channels. God knows you’re pretty enough. Million subscribers in a day, you.”_ _

__“Careful,” Ethan says. He nudges Nick with his toes. “You’ll give me ideas.”_ _

__“That’s just objective fact, though, innit? That way’s up, that’s down, your eyes are like big pools of liquid chocolate.”_ _

__Ethan laughs just as the doorbell goes._ _

__Nick looks at his watch. “Is that sushi already? That was quick.”_ _

__Pig sprints for the entryway, beating Nick there and jumping up against the door in a way she hasn’t since she was little and untrained. “Shoo, Pig,” he says, nudging her out of the way with one socked foot, but as soon as he opens the door she makes a break for it, dashing through the crack._ _

__“Fuck,” Nick yelps, making a futile grab for her so she won’t knock down the delivery man or dash into the street._ _

__But it’s not sushi at the door._ _

__It’s Harry._ _

__Nick freezes, crouched in the doorway as Pig leaps up on Harry’s thighs, her little body shaking._ _

__“Pig dog,” Harry says, leaning over to let her lick his fingers. “Missed me, did you?”_ _

__Nick’s heart’s going about as fast as Pig’s tail. Slowly, he stands up, one hand still on the doorknob. “You’re here.”_ _

__“In the flesh,” Harry says. He’s got a beat up brown leather bag slung across his chest. He looks…gorgeous, but exhausted. There’s dark smudges under his eyes, and all of his hair is shoved up under a beanie, save one loose curl that’s escaped down the back of his ear. Nick wants to walk over and press his nose right there, where Harry’s skin is so soft and he smells so exactly like himself. “Took the night flight from New York last night.”_ _

__“I thought you were in L.A.”_ _

__“I had to go to New York for some meetings. I was supposed to go back to L.A. but I just…I just got on a flight to London. I needed to see you.”_ _

__“Nick? You all right? I heard you yell.”_ _

__In the split second between Ethan calling out for him and Ethan appearing in the doorway behind Nick, Harry’s face shutters. His jaw clenches, shoulders going tight up around his ears._ _

__“Nick? I—oh.”_ _

__“Pig tried to do a runner,” Nick says. “Harry…uh. Caught her.”_ _

__“Harry,” Ethan says. Nick can feels Ethan’s eyes burning into the back of his head, but he can’t make himself look away from Harry. He’s here. Fuck, Harry’s here. “Harry Styles, yeah?”_ _

__“That’s me. You must be Ethan,” Harry says, his voice somehow even flatter than his usual monotone._ _

__Nick has to clamp his mouth down on a hysterical giggle bubbling up in his throat. It’s like one of those show downs in the old westerns Daisy makes him watch sometimes. A show down. Or a face off. Face down? Whatever it is, it’s absurd. Harry and Ethan just stare at one another, Nick and Pig caught between them. They’re still standing there just like that—Harry holding his weekender and Pig’s collar, Ethan holding his wine glass, and Nick with a face like a smacked bottom—when the Deliveroo order shows up._ _

__Nick’s never been so glad to see a takeaway delivery in his life. He leaps into action, grabbing Pig and shoving her at Ethan, who fumbles her collar and tries to coax her into the house._ _

__“I’ll get her,” Harry says, shooting Nick a dark look. “She knows me.”_ _

__“I’ve got her,” Ethan says. “C’mon, Pig.” He tugs Pig back into the house as she yips and tries to get back outside._ _

__Nick steps aside to make space for Harry to slide past him, but Harry just pauses in the doorway, laying his hand on Nick’s arm._ _

__“What are you doing here?” Nick whispers._ _

__“I’m making a delivery?” says the poor guy stood on Nick’s front stoop. “You lot ordered the sushi from Kabuto?”_ _

__“Not you. I mean, yes, we ordered the sushi.” Nick fumbles for the bags. “Can you just go inside, please?”_ _

__“Nick—”_ _

__“You want me to put it inside?” the delivery guys says. “I don’t usually, but—”_ _

__“Oh my god,” Nick says, laughing hysterically. “No, not you. Just, Harry, take those bags, please, and put them in the kitchen. You, Mr. Delivery man.”_ _

__“Bartholomew.”_ _

__Nick freezes. “Your…name is Bartholomew?”_ _

__“’tis yeah.”_ _

__“That’s your actual name? That’s what your parents named you?”_ _

__“Yep. Most people just call me Bart, though. Not customers, mind. Most of them don’t ask.”_ _

__Nick cares enormously about Bart all of a sudden. He could stand here the rest of the afternoon and get his whole life story. Then he wouldn’t have to go back inside ever. He could just jump on the back of Bartholomew’s scooter and make the rest of his deliveries with him._ _

__Unbidden, Nick thinks of the time Harry took him out for Omakase sushi and they’d sat for two hours, eating whatever thing the chef put on their plates while dueling with their chopsticks. He shoves the thought out of his head and gives Bart a handshake. “Thanks, mate, really. Have a good one.”_ _

__When he’s gone, Nick shuts the door and sags against it, absolutely knackered. If he goes into the bedroom and just takes a nap, maybe Harry and Ethan will have murdered one another by the time he wakes up._ _

__But then they’d get blood on Nick’s new rug, and he quite likes that rug, even if Pig has already chewed up one corner of it. He sighs, pushes himself off the wall, and heads into the kitchen._ _

__Harry’s already got plates out of the cupboard, and he’s unpacking the sushi, setting it out along the worktop. He looks over his shoulder when Nick comes in, mouth set in a tight line. “All right?”_ _

__“Harry, what are you doing here?”_ _

__Harry sighs, turning and leaning back against the counter. “I put my bag in your room.”_ _

__“Harry,” Nick says, covering his face with his hands._ _

__“Thought you’d be happier to see me, to be perfectly honest, after Friday night.”_ _

__“Friday night you were in Los Angeles. I didn’t expect—”_ _

__“Well you should. You should expect.” He turns and grabs some glasses. “But apparently I shouldn’t have.”_ _

__“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”_ _

__“Wanted it to be a surprise.” He laughs and slams down a plastic tub. “Ha ha. Surprise.”_ _

__“Hang on, don’t be pissed.”_ _

__“I’m well sick of you telling me how to feel, Nick. I’ll be as fucked off as I want to, thanks.”_ _

__“Oh my god,” Nick says weakly. He wishes he could go back in time and tell his overweight and spotty teenaged self not to worry, that one day he’d have Harry bleeding Styles throwing a tantrum in his kitchen because of the beautiful boy in the other room. “I cannot deal with this. I really can’t.”_ _

__He walks out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Ethan is sliding his feet into his boots. He looks up as Nick walks in. “I’m gonna head off.”_ _

__“You’re going?” Nick says, heart sinking. He’s well and truly fucked this up. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d come in to find an Ethan-shaped hole in the back door. “But sushi just got here.”_ _

__“Gonna give sushi a miss, I think.”_ _

__“You don’t have to go.”_ _

__Ethan stands up, sliding his laptop into his bag. “I don’t want to get into whatever’s going on in there. There’s like, everyone’s got their own shit. Then there’s this.” He meets Nick’s gaze. “Am I wrong?”_ _

__“It’s…” Nick lifts one shoulder, lets it drop back down again. “It’s really complicated.”_ _

__“Obviously. If you sort it out, give me a shout. You know where to find me.”_ _

__“Hang on,” Nick says, catching his arm as he passes. “At least let me take you to the tube station.”_ _

__“Cheers, but I’ll just walk to the bus stop. It’s not that cold out.”_ _

__“It’s about to start raining, and the bus stop's ages away.”_ _

__“I’ll get an Uber, then, to the bus stop. Take a train from there.”_ _

__“Ethan, you’re not taking an Uber to the bus to the tube. That’s ridiculous.”_ _

__“You’re going?” Harry says, coming into the living room. He crosses his arms over his chest. “But we barely got a chance to talk.”_ _

__“Harry,” Nick says sharply._ _

__“I can call a car for you,” Harry goes on, like Nick isn’t glaring daggers at him. “My service picks me up here all the time. They know where it is.”_ _

__Nick clenches his jaw and rounds on Harry. “I’m taking him to the tube station. Kindly get your head out of your arse while I’m gone.”_ _

__“I really don’t—”_ _

__“Ethan just go get in the bloody car.”_ _

__He storms out, leaving Ethan to follow after him. Harry doesn’t say a word. As far as Nick is concerned, the pair of them can do whatever the hell they want._ _

__Nick starts the car and turns the seat warmers on. Ethan slides into the passenger side and pokes the radio, flipping it on. Nick doesn’t reprimand him for switching through the stations, just lets him get on with it. Music fills the space. It’s the only thing that does; neither of them speaks, not until Nick is pulling up at Angel. He flicks on his indicator and edges through the traffic to the sound of cars all around him beeping up a storm. He manages to get over to the curb and throws the car in neutral. Behind him, someone lays on their horn._ _

__“Can you do me a favor on behalf of the single gay boys of London?” Ethan asks. Without waiting for Nick to answer, he goes on: “Can you sort that out? Because until you figure that out, whatever it is, you’re not going to be able to make anything work. And it’s kind of shit to get caught in the middle of it.”_ _

__“I wasn’t trying to mess you about,” Nick says. His hands are sweating all over the steering wheel. He feels absolutely wretched for the way this whole thing has gone. He’s been messed about enough in his life. To think he’s done it to a guy as nice as Ethan makes him feel sick._ _

__“No, I know. You’re not a bad guy.” He shrugs. “Just not the guy. Not for me, anyway.” He pops the button on his seatbelt and opens the door. “See ya around, Nick Grimshaw.”_ _

__The crowds on the pavement swallow him up before Nick can answer. He watches the hustle and bustle for a second, until the person behind him startles him out of it with a series of beeps that bounce around in Nick’s head like so many pinballs._ _

__He sighs, wipes his hands on his thighs, and flips on his indicator._ _

__The traffic is picking up as he tries to turn around and navigate Islington. Normally Nick would hate it and get stressed about whatever he might be missing out on, stuck in traffic on Upper Street, but the only thing waiting for him at home is another row with Harry, and Nick is already battered and bruised from the last go. He pulls in by the side of the road and nips into a bakery for a pasty, and ends up eating it in his car. He stays sitting there until the air around him in the car has gone stone-fucking-cold. Then he turns the engine back on and heads home._ _

__Harry’s sitting on the sofa when Nick comes in, boots kicked off in the middle of the floor and Pig’s head in his lap. There’s a plate on the ottoman with a few slices of pickled ginger and a single chopstick. Nick’ll probably find the other under a cushion in two months’ time._ _

__He drops his keys in the bowl Harry bought him for his hall, so he’d stop misplacing them and having to get new ones made._ _

__Harry looks up as he comes in. He looks so plainly unhappy that every bit of anger Nick had worked himself up to in the car just floods right out of his body. He sags, looking away from Harry’s red-rimmed and watery eyes._ _

__“You’ve been a while.”_ _

__“Traffic,” Nick says._ _

__“I’m not surprised, if you took him all the way to Angel,” Harry says. A muscle jumps in his jaw. He tugs his beanie off and knots his hands up around it._ _

__“You’ve eaten my lunch.”_ _

__“It’s gone four.”_ _

__“Then you’ve eaten my tea.”_ _

__Harry shrugs. “Leftover sushi’s crap.”_ _

__Nick doesn’t point out that the sushi wasn’t leftover. He crosses the room and slides Harry’s plate out of the way, then sits down on the ottoman. His heart’s in his throat. “Harry.”_ _

__“I didn’t think you ate edamame.”_ _

__“That was Ethan’s.”_ _

__A sigh shudders out of Harry, and he drops his chin to his chest. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. “If I hadn’t shown up would you have fucked him?”_ _

Nick would laugh, if the whole thing wasn’t so utterly bonkers. He’s been in love with Harry for so long he can hardly remember a time when it wasn’t an ever present bruise on his heart. In all the time he’s known him, there’s never been any relief from it, not a moment’s pause. Even when he’s dating someone, Harry is always there in the back of his mind, a constant and quiet _what if_. A relentless maybe. Maybe if he said the right thing on the right day… Maybe if the stars lined up just right, and all the gods smiled on him… 

__But there are no gods, and there’s never going to be a right day. There’s only this day, this moment. There’s just Harry’s wide eyes, shining up at him from his familiar face. There’s just the way Nick’s never, ever going to be over this._ _

__There are moments when it feels like the two of them are the only thing in the world that makes sense. This is one of them._ _

__“Do you know,” Nick says, when he’s swallowed his heart down enough to speak. “Do you have any idea how much easier it would be if it was Ethan? Can you imagine how much easier my life would be if he was the one I wanted? If you weren’t this constant ache in my chest I can’t get rid of?”_ _

__Harry looks up. “You want to get rid of me?”_ _

__“Before you showed up,” Nick goes on, “I was sitting here with this gorgeous boy, right? And don’t make that face, because he is gorgeous. You’ve got eyeballs, same as me. But that’s not the point. I’m sitting here, and he’s right there and he’s beautiful and interested in me, yeah? And I thought to myself ‘Grim, mate, you gotta get it together.’ I thought ‘He’s got nice legs. Gonna look at those.’ Right? They’re good legs. So I did. I made myself stare at his legs, and you know what I thought?”_ _

__Harry shrugs one shoulder._ _

__“I thought, those sofa cushions need recovering.”_ _

__Harry’s head snaps up. The smile that spreads across his face is awful, like a sunrise. It’s terrible. It’s the worst face Nick has ever seen. “Sofa cushions?”_ _

__Nick nods. “Sofa cushions.”_ _

__Harry’s grinning at him now. Oh god, and Nick is grinning too. They’re beaming at one another like a couple of love-sick idiots. “So you didn’t sleep with him?”_ _

__“No.”_ _

__“Not ever?”_ _

__“Why would I?” Nick says. “When I’ve got you doing my head in from a million miles away.”_ _

__Whatever Nick was expecting, it isn’t for Harry jerk up off the sofa, pick up his plate and chopstick, and walk into the kitchen._ _

__“Er,” Nick says. He leans forward to peer into the kitchen. “Harry?”_ _

__Harry’s dishes clatter in the sink. The water turns on, then back off again, and still Harry doesn’t come back in. Nick stands up and walks into the kitchen, where Harry is braced against the countertop, arms spread wide, head hanging low._ _

__Nick’s heart erupts in chaos. He’s fucked it up. He’s gone and fucked it up. He thought they were getting somewhere—that they were finally going to get it right._ _

__Then Harry turns and his gaze settles on Nick. It’s not anger on his face—it’s relief. “I thought—”_ _

__Nick inhales. “I know what you thought.”_ _

__“And you let me think it.”_ _

__“I was mad at you. Still am, really. But that doesn’t mean I’m not crazy about you, Harry. Because I am. Always have been, really.”_ _

__Harry stares at him for so long Nick has the urge to cover his face. Finally, he draws in a great, shuddering breath and says “I’m going to kiss you now.”_ _

__“Well you bloody well better.”_ _

__It takes two seconds for Harry’s long legs to eat up the space between them. Nick opens his mouth—to say what, he’s not sure—but Harry’s there before he has a chance to work it out. He cradles Nick’s face between his hands and kisses him._ _

__There’s no need for words, then. There’s no need for anything between them at all. Whatever Nick was thinking, Harry drinks it right out of his mouth, pressing in close and sliding his tongue against Nick’s. His feet bump up against Nick’s, and Nick shuffles his out, making room for Harry between them. Harry makes a soft, pleased noise into Nick’s mouth and leans in, caging Nick in, and Nick can’t hold back any more. He doesn’t even want to try. He wraps one arm around Harry’s waist and slides the other into his hair, spinning them around and pressing Harry hard into the counter._ _

__“Want you,” Harry murmurs, when Nick pulls back to get his mouth on the hinge of Harry’s jaw. “Nick, babe, want you.”_ _

__Nick moves back to his mouth and kisses the words right off his lips. He pulls Harry even tighter in so that they’re pressed together all over. Harry’s thighs are pressing against Nick, his hips, the soft curve of his belly. When his chest rises with the frantic breathes he’s gulping in, Nick feels it. He feels everything._ _

__They stay there kissing for ages, until Nick’s mouth is sore and his spine aches with how hard he’s clutching at whatever part of Harry he can reach. Only when Nick starts to think he’s going to fall down under the weight of wanting does he pull back and rest his forehead against Harry’s._ _

__“Fuck,” Harry says, breathing hard. He’s got his hands wrapped around Nick’s arms, fingers digging in. He leans back in and kisses Nick again, sliding his hands around to the buttons on Nick’s shirt. One button comes undone, then another, then another, until Harry parts the fabric and slides it off Nick’s shoulders. His hands skim down Nick’s chest and over his stomach._ _

__Then Harry pops the button on Nick’s jeans, and Nick stops thinking. He fumbles for the hem of Harry’s shirt, but Harry shakes his head and catches Nick’s wrists. “You always take care of me. Let me take care of you.”_ _

__There’s something…shocking in the way that makes Nick feel. Possessive and jealous and angry, almost. There’s a mad thing inside him, driving him to pick Harry up and haul him onto the nearest horizontal surface and just never let him up again._ _

__“Harry—”_ _

__“No,” Harry tells him. “No, let me.”_ _

__“I was just going to ask if I could take you to bed.”_ _

__Harry grins and squeezes Nick’s wrists. “No. But I’ll take you there.”_ _

__It’s an easy path to the bedroom, but they manage to bang into every piece of furniture and art in Nick’s flat along the way, shedding clothing as the go. Nick’s shoes wind up in the lounge, his jeans and pants a tangle in the hallway. Nick’s going to be bruised to high heaven tomorrow, but he doesn’t really care, not when Harry is touching him all over, making noises into his mouth as they fumble their way into the bedroom and crash onto the bed._ _

__Harry pushes Nick down and kneels above him, hair a wild halo in the low light of the bedroom. “Can I suck you off?”_ _

__“What a question,” Nick says, feeling himself flush hot all down his chest. Harry keeps rubbing his hands through Nick’s chest hair, fingernails catching on the soft curls there. “Anyone ever turned that down?”_ _

__Harry shrugs, grinning. “That a yes?”_ _

__“Yeah, love. That’s a yes.”_ _

__“Yay,” Harry says quietly. He pulls his shirt over his head and drops it off the side of the bed._ _

__Nick’s breath catches in his throat. He settles his hands on Harry’s hips, thumbs resting just under his laurels. He can’t stop smiling up at Harry, soaking in every freckle and curl of dark ink._ _

__“I’m crazy about you too, you know,” Harry says suddenly. “In case I didn’t say that.”_ _

__He didn’t, but Nick already knew. He has for a while, probably. He nods, wordless, and skims his thumb over the soft skin in the dip of Harry’s hip._ _

__“Right,” Harry says. He bends in half to press a kiss to Nick’s forehead, then shimmies down the bed, shouldering Nick’s thighs wide so he can settle himself between them. “Gonna be brilliant, this.”_ _

__“You certainly think highly of yourself,” Nick says weakly._ _

__“I meant for me. Been wanting to do this for ages.”_ _

__Somehow, Nick goes even harder. His dick nudges up against Harry’s gorgeous, pink mouth. Nick closes his eyes and throws an arm over his face. It’ll be a wonder if this isn’t over before it starts._ _

__The first touch of Harry’s tongue makes Nick rocket up off the bed. Harry laughs, sounding delighted, and pushes Nick’s hips back into the duvet. “Easy, love.”_ _

__“Shut up,” Nick pants, turning his head to bury his face in the nearest pillow._ _

__“Can I get back to this or—”_ _

“Shut _up_ ,” Nick moans. He can’t look. If he looks down he’s going to— 

__He groans as Harry’s mouth stretches wide over his cock, sliding halfway down his length in one go. Without thinking, Nick reaches down and tangles his hands in Harry’s hair._ _

__Just like that, something slides into place. Everything slides into place. Harry moans and pushes forward so he can fit more of Nick’s dick into his mouth, and Nick just pulls him down, jaw falling open at how bloody good it feels. Harry’s mouth is so hot inside, so soft and wet, and his tongue is sliding up Nick’s length and flicking over the head when he pulls back to breathe._ _

__Nick’s chest heaves. He glances down at Harry, who’s panting, eyes shut. “Haz?”_ _

__Harry’s eyes flicker open. A shiver races across his shoulders. “You can pull,” he says. “I don’t mind.”_ _

__Nick doesn’t answer. He just rolls his eyes and pulls Harry back down onto his cock._ _

__Harry’s good at cock sucking, which isn’t that much of a surprise. He’s good at every bloody thing he does, and while it’s usually annoying, for once Nick is profoundly grateful. He keeps his hands in Harry’s hair as Harry works him over, suckling at the head of Nick’s dick and jacking the length of it. Every time Harry tries to move, Nick’s grip keeps him steady, only letting him go where Nick wants him to be. Eventually Harry goes still and pliant, crouched over Nick’s lap as Nick curls up and fucks up into his mouth._ _

__It’s filthy, really. It’s just a blowjob, but it’s one of the hottest things Nick’s ever done, and he’s not so stupid he doesn’t realize it’s Harry making it so good. He lets go with one of his hands and reaches down to cup Harry’s exposed throat._ _

__Harry moans, low and long, and Nick feels the vibrations of it in his palm._ _

__“You are good,” he tells him, rubbing his thumb over the striations of Harry’s throat. He pulls with his other hand, feeling the tangles of Harry’s hair let go under the pressure. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you?”_ _

__Harry nods and shuffles up onto his knees. His hair is a curtain over Nick’s thighs. He braces his hands against Nick’s legs and pushes his face into Nick’s lap, gagging over the length of Nick’s cock._ _

__“Fuck,” Nick chokes out, yanking him back up. “What was that?”_ _

__“Want…want to…” Harry swallows, and Nick feels the rise and fall of it against the palm still wrapped around his throat. “Fuck, Nick. Tell me. Tell me I’m good.”_ _

__Nick laughs; that he can do. It’s all the fills his head some days, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to open his mouth and let it all spill out, to tell Harry how good he is, how beautiful and lovely, and that Nick loves him— _loves him_ —and never wants to be further from him than they are in that moment. _ _

__Harry cries out, scurrying up into Nick’s lap and kissing him. His mouth is sloppy and wet, and Nick slides his tongue into it, wrapping his arms around Harry’s chest and fucking his dick up against Harry’s ass._ _

There’s a blinding flash inside his mind, a sudden, searing image of what it would be like to just slide up inside Harry like that, to fit his dick into the hot clutch of Harry’s body. To _fuck_ him. 

__Nick’s orgasm tears through him in long, glorious pulses, flooding up against Harry’s ass. Harry gasps and shoves down, making Nick cry out with how bad he wants it._ _

__“Fuck,” Harry says, pulling back and staring down at Nick with wild eyes. “Oh god.”_ _

__“Harry—”_ _

“Oh my god,” Harry says again. He reaches back slides his fingers through the mess between them, mouth falling open. His fingers catch on the sensitive head of Nick’s dick; he hisses, but doesn’t pull away. He can’t, not when Harry’s looking at him like that, and all Nick can think of are the thousands of times he’s going to fuck Harry and come inside him and fucking…Christ, fucking _own_ him. 

__Harry’s hand is still moving behind him, shoulder rising and falling with his jerky movements. Nick’s come is slicking down between Harry’s thighs, making a filthy mess of both them. Nick moves his hand down over Harry’s, mouth falling open when he realizes Harry’s rubbing the pads of his fingers over his asshole._ _

__“Holy shit,” Nick says weakly._ _

__“Want you,” Harry says, and Nick knows exactly what he means. He hauls Harry in and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, fitting his fingers around Harry’s and rubbing his rim until Harry makes a sharp noise and spills all over Nick’s stomach._ _

__It takes a while for them to untangle themselves. They tumble sideways and kiss for a while, giggling into one another’ mouths. Nick’s loathe to move away from Harry, even though he’s sticky and sweaty and desperately wants a shower. When he does manage to extract himself and start towards the bathroom, Harry wraps himself around Nick’s back and hangs there like a limpet. Nick laughs, hitching Harry up and giving him a piggyback into the bathroom._ _

__“You weight a fucking ton,” he tells him, gasping, as he deposits him bare-assed onto the bathroom counter._ _

__“Excuse you, I’m light and lithe,” Harry says. He kicks at Nick’s ribs as Nick turns the shower on. “There’s spunk on your counters now, by the way.”_ _

__“You’re absolutely disgusting.”_ _

__“You put me here, darling.”_ _

__Nick sighs and grabs an extra towel for Harry. “What have I got myself into?”_ _

__Harry grins, swinging his legs and knocking his heels against the cabinet. “Carry me to the shower.”_ _

__“Go fuck yourself,” Nick tells him. He steps into the shower and tips his head back under the spray._ _

__“Can I come in?”_ _

__Nick opens his eyes to find Harry peeping around the shower curtain at him. His eyes are dancing in a way that Nick thinks he could happily look at every day for the rest of his life._ _

__“I suppose,” Nick tells him. “If you wash my hair.”_ _

__They scrub one another’s skin until they’ve both gone pink, and the bathroom is filled with steam. Nick presses in close and drags a hand through Harry’s wet ringlets._ _

__“Let’s go back to bed,” he says, pressing his cheek to Harry’s._ _

__Harry hums and rests a hand in the small of Nick’s back. “Sleepy? Did I wear you out?”_ _

__Nick laughs. “Who said anything about sleep?”_ _

__

__Nick wakes up like he always does, groaning and fumbling on the bedside table to silence his phone. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and flips on his lamp._ _

__A groan beside him announces Harry’s presence. Unbidden, a smile spread over Nick’s face, and he scoots over, wrapping his body around the lump in the duvet. “Good moooooorning.”_ _

__“Turn it off,” Harry grunts, elbowing Nick in the spleen. “Whassa matter with you?”_ _

__“This is what time I get up, popstar. Learn to live with it.”_ _

__“No,” Harry says. “I shan’t.”_ _

__“You shall.”_ _

__“No,” Harry says again. He rolls over and wraps his arms around Nick, tucking himself under Nick’s chin and throwing a leg over his hips. “Stay in bed. Be my kept man.”_ _

__“I’ve always wanted to have a sugar daddy,” Nick says. He smooths a hand down Harry’s back. “Keep me in designer labels.”_ _

__“Mmmhmm.”_ _

__“Unfortunately I love my job.”_ _

__“Your job’s stupid,” Harry says. “Stupid, stupid work.”_ _

__“I thought you were up with the sunrise these days,” Nick says. “Getting centered or summat.”_ _

__“I’m centered as fuck,” Harry says. “Turn the light off.”_ _

__Nick laughs softly, and extracts himself from the extra limbs Harry seems to have grown in the night. “I’ll be home before you’re even up,” he says, smoothing Harry’s hair back from his forehead. “Stay in bed, yeah? You probably need your rest.”_ _

__Harry narrows his eyes. “It’d take more than your worst, Grimshaw.”_ _

__Nick showers quickly and grabs a banana and yogurt to eat in the car, then tumbles out into the cold London morning. It sucks leaving Harry there in the bed, buried beneath the duvet with Pig curled up around his feet, but Nick forces himself not to think too much about it. He forces himself not to think about any of it, but his mind keeps skipping back to the last time he left Harry asleep in his bed. His heart’s still not mended from it, no matter how hard Harry had kissed him, or how many times he’d whispered Nick’s name and touched him like he was something special._ _

__Nick’s a mess by the time he gets back home, hands fumbling his keys into the lock. Pig greets him by running over and weaving around his feet, sending him tripping over a pile of dirty washing in the entryway._ _

__Nick’s heart settles. “Haz?”_ _

__“In here,” Harry calls._ _

__Nick follows his voice into the kitchen, where Harry’s sitting on the floor in his pants, sorting through a pile of paperwork. “What’s that?”_ _

__“Hiya,” Harry says, looking up and grinning._ _

__“Hiya,” Nick replies. “Thought you were going to stay in bed.”_ _

__“I did,” Harry says. “Then I got up and went for a run and went to the shops.”_ _

__Nick rolls his eyes. Harry doesn’t know the meaning of the word relax. “And then you decided to do your washing.”_ _

__“Yep,” Harry says. “Bought you some more washing powder, that organic one you like. It costs the earth, by the way.” He pops his chewing gum. “Princess.”_ _

__“And what’s all this?” he asks, toeing one of the stacks of papers._ _

__“Well, I skipped about four meetings in L.A. this week, so I’m going over the paperwork for them. I thought I could just dial in and it’d be nearly the same thing.”_ _

__Nick blinks down at him, a flush creeping up his throat. He still can’t really believe Harry dropped everything and flew back to London for him. Granted, he was fueled by jealousy and outrage, but he’s still here, spreading his mess all over Nick’s flat and smiling up at Nick like it’s just where he wants to be._ _

__“You know I have a table, me. You could sit in a proper chair and do this.”_ _

__Harry shrugs. “What’s your week looking like?”_ _

__“Nothing much,” Nick says, leaning his hip against the counter. “Work. Got a lunch date with Aimee on Thursday.”_ _

__“Is that a best mate thing, or can I tag along? I haven’t seen her in ages. I’d like to see everyone while I’m here. Maybe we could do a dinner or summat?”_ _

__“We can do whatever you want, popstar. Though you might give Alexa a wide berth.”_ _

__“Oh no,” Harry says, freezing. He clutches a stack of paper to his chest. “Really?”_ _

__“’fraid so.”_ _

__“Oh god, really? Is she furious at me? How much did you tell her?”_ _

__Nick clears his throat and grimaces. “Little bit of everything.”_ _

__Harry’s eyes widen. “Everything?”_ _

__“Not everything! Not like, the sex stuff. But the other stuff, yeah.”_ _

__Harry sighs, standing up and wincing as his knees crack. He grabs a shirt off the floor and pulls it on. “Nick, love, should we talk about this?”_ _

__“Probably,” Nick says, shrugging._ _

__Harry raises an eyebrow. “Are we going to?”_ _

__Nick shakes his head. “Nope.”_ _

__Harry laughs and picks his way across the piles of paper. He puts one hand on the worktop on either side of Nick’s hips, caging him in. “Look, I know I fucked up. I fucked up a lot.”_ _

__“I could have called,” Nick says, “It wasn’t all you.”_ _

__Harry cuts him off with a look. “I fucked up, Nick. I knew even when I was doing it that it was a fuck up, but I did it anyway. And that sucks. And I’m sorry.”_ _

__“Harry—”_ _

__“No, just listen. I could say a million things, like how much you scare me and how I panicked, right? I could say that, but it won’t fix it. I can’t go back and undo it, no matter how much I wish I could.” He takes a deep breath and lifts one hand to cup Nick’s cheek. “I love you, you gorgeous, commitment-phobic dickhead. I have always been in love with you. And I know I’m complicated and that this isn’t going to be easy, and sometimes it’s going to suck, but I want to try, Nick. I really want to try.”_ _

__In about two seconds, Nick’s heart’s going to jump right out of his chest into Harry’s. He debates between kissing Harry and kneeing him in the balls and making a dash for the back door. In the end, Harry makes the decision for him, gathering Nick up into his arms and kissing him until Nick forgets anything else._ _

__

__The worst part about Harry having more or less moved into Nick’s flat is that there are suddenly chewing gum wrappers everywhere. Nick can’t believe one person gets through so much chewing gum, and that it's all sticks instead of the little tabs. Almost overnight, his flat is full of bits of silver foil that Harry leaves everywhere. They collect in a pile on the end table in the lounge and scatter across the kitchen table. Nick even finds one under his pillow one night. He’s doing his best not to let it drive him completely mad, and he’s doing a pretty okay job of it, until the morning Pig eats one, then sicks her breakfast up all over Nick’s duvet._ _

__“Aw, your first lover’s quarrel,” Aimee says over lunch, when Nick explains to her why Harry was disinvited to lunch. He’s out buying Nick a new duvet and getting Pig her own bed._ _

__“I just don’t understand,” Nick says. “There’s bins everywhere! How hard is it to walk over and put the wrapper in? It’s like he’s allergic to it.”_ _

__“If that’s his only annoying habit, count yourself lucky.”_ _

__“It’s not,” Nick says darkly. “But it is the only one that’s made my dog sick.”_ _

__“Not bad for one week in,” Aimee says. She takes a bite of her sandwich and taps one long, bright green nail on the table. “How’s it going, really? Is it everything you’ve ever dreamed of?”_ _

__Nick blushes, looking down at his plate. “It’s pretty great,” he says, which is approximately 90 percent of the story. The other ten percent is that Nick’s terrified Harry’s going to get bored or panic again and just walk right back out the door._ _

__“And I assume you’ve done the adult thing and talked about all the crap that got you here in the first place?”_ _

__“Sure,” Nick says, popping a tomato into his mouth. “If by talked about it, do you mean avoided the subject entirely and shagged ourselves rotten? Because yes, we’ve done that.”_ _

__“Nicholas,” Aimee says. “Seriously?”_ _

__“Swear to god.”_ _

__“You’re the dumbest. I mean, honestly and truly the dumbest. Both of you. How do you go through life and not like, fall down more?”_ _

__“I almost never fall down,” Nick tells her. “I’m not Harry.”_ _

__“No, but you’re as dumb as. Fuck’s sake, no wonder you two ended up together. You’re too stupid for anyone else. You should just go ahead and get married and take yourselves out of the dating pool. Spare all the rest of us.”_ _

__It’s close enough to what Ethan said when Nick dropped him off at the tube that night to run up against the anxiety in Nick’s chest, turning the food in his mouth to dust. He takes a big swallow of Diet Coke, wiping his hands on his napkin. “Couldn’t we just have sex and like…watch Bake Off? And never, ever talk about our feelings?”_ _

__“Sure. If you want to fuck this up again.”_ _

__“Aimee,” Nick whines. “I don’t wanna.”_ _

__“Which would you rather? Have one single conversation about your feelings, or fuck up your relationship with Harry?”_ _

__Nick makes a face._ _

__“See? Now be a fucking grown up, Nick. And order me another cocktail. I have to go to the bathroom and text Ian about what an idiot you are.”_ _

__Nick mulls her words over and over the whole way home, sick with the knowledge that she’s right. He and Harry are going to have to talk about it all, and probably sooner than later. As it is, Nick feels uneasy every time he leaves for work. Even though he thinks Harry’ll be there when he gets back, he can’t make himself really believe it. He can’t quite trust it yet._ _

__Pig’s no worse for the wear, apparently. She’s got a new collar and smells like lavender, meaning Harry took her to the groomers today. She weaves around Nick’s feet, then runs into the lounge and jumps up on the couch, entirely ignoring her new bed beside the ottoman._ _

__Harry’s voice is carrying out of the bedroom. He looks around when Nick walks in, then quickly finishes tucking the duvet around the bed._ _

__“Tada!” he says, spreading his arms wide and grimacing. “Good as new.”_ _

__“Hmm,” Nick says, eyeing the new bedding._ _

__“Got new sheets, too. Ridiculously high thread count apparently, Egyptian cotton.” He sweeps a hand over the bed like he’s presenting it for the Generation Game. “John Lewis. Got you a present too.”_ _

__“Better be a good one.”_ _

__“It’s a great one,” Harry says. He pulls a bright pink gift bag out from beside the bed and holds it out._ _

__Nick takes the bag off him and peers inside. It’s jammed full of tissue paper and ribbon. It looks like a twelve year-old-girl wrapped it, which Nick loves. He narrows his eyes at Harry and dislodges a wad of tissue paper._ _

__Underneath is a folded up t-shirt with Harry’s beaming face on the front._ _

__Nick bursts out laughing. “What is wrong with you? Who gives someone a t-shirt with their own face on it?”_ _

__“I do,” Harry says proudly. “Got some looks paying for it, I don’t mind telling you. Anyway, you love it.”_ _

__He’s right; Nick does. He immediately pulls off his jumper and tugs the shirt on. It’s a little stiff, but it’s roomy and Nick knows it’ll just get softer and softer with wear. He smooths a hand down it and poses. “How’s that?”_ _

__“Gorgeous,” Harry says. “I could definitely be into you wearing clothes with my face on them.”_ _

__“You’re such a narcissist.”_ _

__Harry shrugs, unbothered. “We’re okay, then? If I promise to always get my chewing gum wrappers in the bin?”_ _

__With a sigh, Nick sits down on the new duvet. He sneaks a hand out and drags it over the fabric; it’s heavenly. “Aimee says we have to talk about our feelings.”_ _

__“Okay,” Harry says. He sits down and covers Nick’s hand with his. Like a reflex, Nick turns his hand palm up and threads his fingers though Harry’s._ _

__Then he realizes what Harry said, and his head snaps up. “Okay? What do you mean, okay?”_ _

__“I mean okay,” Harry says, laughing. “What else would I mean?”_ _

__“You can’t want to talk about our feelings.”_ _

__“I’m not bothered by it,” Harry says, shrugging. “We’re going to have to sooner or later.”_ _

__“So why not later?” Nick pleads, even though he’s the one who brought it up. “Much, much later.”_ _

__“Nick, look.”_ _

__“Oh no,” Nick says, trying to tug his hand free. “I don’t want any conversation that starts with ‘Nick, look.’”_ _

__“I don’t want to freak you out,” Harry goes on, raising his voice and squeezing Nick’s hand. “But I still feel really shit about what happened, and I don’t think you’ve forgiven me yet.”_ _

__“I forgive you,” Nick says automatically. “Course I do.”_ _

__“All right, maybe not forgiven me, but like…I don’t think you’re over it. And that’s okay,” he says quickly, “you don’t have to be, because it was a crap thing. But I want you to know that I’m not going anywhere. Me leaving was stupid, and I worry you think I’m going to do it again.”_ _

__Nick looks away._ _

__“Oh,” Harry says softly. “You do think that.”_ _

__“I don’t mean to,” Nick says. “I don’t want to. And it’s not all the time. Just like, when I leave for work, and you’re here, and I think about—”_ _

__“About when I left before.”_ _

__Nick nods. “I’ll get over it.”_ _

__“And until then? You just what, walk around thinking I’m going to shove off at any minute? That sounds like the trappings of a healthy relationship.”_ _

__“I can’t just not feel like this. Trust me, if I could make myself stop, I would.” Nick pauses, tunneling both hands into his hair. “Harry, babe. You broke my heart.”_ _

__Harry inhales sharply and stands up. He takes two steps toward the bathroom, then stops and turns back. “I am in love with you,” he snaps, brows drawn tight. “What else do you need me to say?”_ _

__“I need you to say you won’t go,” Nick says, unable to believe the words that are coming out of his mouth. How did he get to be so needy and so terrified of commitment all at the same time? “I need you to say you won’t leave again.”_ _

__“My job—”_ _

__“I’m not talking about your damn job, Harry. I’m talking about me. I’m talking about us. I need—” He casts around. “I need some kind of commitment from you that this is real.”_ _

__“Real?" Harry snaps. "You think this isn’t real to me? Nick, I would give up everything if you asked me to. Do you know how fucking terrifying that is? The whole world on a silver platter for me, and I would give it all away for you. It’s not even a question. You and me, it’s the realest thing I know and it scares the living fuck out of me.”_ _

__“Harry—”_ _

__“No,” Harry says furiously. “Just shut up. I know I fucked up and I’m sorry, but don’t say this isn’t real.” He takes a step back, covering his mouth with the back of his hand._ _

__“Just say you’ll stay,” Nick says pleadingly. Everything in him is screaming to get up and go to Harry, but he’s grown roots. He can’t move off the bed, can only sit and stare at Harry, heart cracking in half. “Please, just say you’ll stay here with me.”_ _

__Harry stares at him, eyes wet. “I will stay with you as long as you’ll have me.”_ _

__It’s a word that’s scared Nick for so long, but now it seems like the simplest thing in the world. “Forever, then.”_ _

__Harry huffs out a watery laugh. “Forever sounds good.”_ _

__It settles over Nick like a warm blanket. Forever. He wants to take it and fold it up and hide it away behind his breastbone for safekeeping, where no one can ever take it away from him. “Are you going to come kiss me or what?”_ _

__Harry’s on him in a heartbeat. He presses Nick down into the new duvet, hands cradling Nick’s jaw and tilting his head up. Nick wraps one leg around Harry’s knee and flips them over, delighting in the sound he shocks out of Harry._ _

__“Clothes off,” he says, going for the button on Harry’s jeans._ _

__“You too,” Harry says, grinning. “But leave the t-shirt on.”_ _

__“You’re not going to fuck me whilst I’m wearing a t-shirt with your face on it.”_ _

__“No,” Harry says, rolling his body up against Nick’s. “You’re going to fuck me.”_ _

__“Ugh,” Nick says. He threads a hand into Harry’s hair and yanks him forward. “Fine. But don’t get jizz on the new sheets.”_ _

__

__It’s another two weeks before they can manage to coordinate everyone’s schedules for a night out. After dinner, Pixie suggests Ginger Man, which makes Nick choke on his beer._ _

__“What’s a Ginger Man?” Harry asks from where he’s tucked under Nick’s arm, already drunk and pliable. Nick can hardly wait to get him home and fuck him up. Harry’s got bruises on the inside of each thigh in the shape of Nick’s mouth, and he’s got a mind to put a few more there._ _

__“Nothing,” he says, squeezing Harry’s shoulder and glaring around the table._ _

__“What?” Pixie says. “I thought it was a good club.”_ _

__“It is,” Alexa says. “Only that’s where Nick’s—”_ _

__Nick kicks out, landing a blow on Daisy’s shin._ _

__“Ow,” she says, betrayed. “What was that for? I didn’t say anything at all!”_ _

__“I thought that was Alexa,” he says._ _

__“No,” Alexa says, catching him in the shin with the pointed toe of her boots. “That’s me.”_ _

__“Bloody ow!” Nick yelps. He reaches across the table to flick Alexa on the forehead. Her face goes murderous._ _

__“Hey, Harry,” she says, glaring daggers at Nick, “Nick was telling me about how you like your—”_ _

__“GINGER MAN,” Nick shouts, cutting her off. “Who wants to go to Ginger Man?”_ _

__“Nick, what is a Ginger Man?” Harry asks, peering up at him, face wrinkled up in adorable confusion. “Like gingerbread man?”_ _

__Nick’s heart gives a terrible, tender throb. He catches a curl that’s fallen loose around Harry’s shoulders and gives it a tug. “No, love. It’s a club.”_ _

__“We’re going there?”_ _

__“Do you want to dance?”_ _

__“Footloose and fancy free, me,” Harry says, nodding sagely. “Let’s go be gingerbread men.”_ _

__

__Demi Levato is playing when they walk into the club, which Nick takes as a good sign. It doesn’t seem quite like Ethan’s style. He pushes himself up on his tip toes and glances over at the decks, breathing in a sigh of relief at the mop of blond curls he finds there. He’s not scared of seeing Ethan, exactly. More ashamed. He was a prat, and he knows it. He’d rather not relive the whole thing._ _

__“You drinking?” Harry asks, grinning widely and grabbing both of Nick’s hands. “Or dancing?”_ _

__“Why can’t we do both?”_ _

__“You’re clever, Nicholas Grimshaw. I like that about you.”_ _

__Nick’s face hurts is going to crack open from smiling. He wraps one arm around Harry’s waist and gives him a good spin. Harry throws his head back, laughing, curls trailing over Nick’s forearm. It makes a shudder race up Nick’s spine._ _

__“Gonna fuck you so good tonight,” he whispers, pulling Harry in._ _

__Harry leans back and smirks at him. “You'd better.”_ _

__They find the bar and grab a tray of shots, which they carry back to the table Daisy’s managed to snag in the corner. Aimee cheers and knocks back two while Ian looks on in mild horror._ _

__“Not looking forward to tomorrow,” he says, laying a napkin down over the tequila Aimee’s spilled._ _

__“Live in the now, darling,” she says. “Come and dance.”_ _

__She shoves him out of the booth and onto the dance floor. Nick watches them go, laughing. Aimee clears a path through the other dancers and wraps her arms around Ian’s neck._ _

__The club is choked with bodies, smoke and flashing lights filling the air, so it’s surprising Nick spots Ethan at all. Maybe if he wasn’t already on alert, he’d have missed him. Maybe if Ethan wasn’t so gorgeous that everyone in a five foot radius is staring at him, Nick wouldn’t have noticed. But he does notice. He sits up straighter, throat going dry._ _

__“Nick?”_ _

__“Hmm?” Nick jerks his head around to meet Harry’s questioning gaze._ _

__“What’s wrong?”_ _

__“Nothing,” Nick says. “Why? What would be wrong?”_ _

__“Dunno,” Harry says, lifting one shoulder. “Only you’re staring at Ethan out there, so…”_ _

__“Ethan’s here?” Daisy says. She pokes her head up like a meerkat. “Where?”_ _

__“Over there,” Harry says. “Dancing with that guy.”_ _

__He’s right, Nick realizes. Even though everyone is trying to get all over Ethan, he’s only got eyes for the guy in front of him. He’s smiling, white teeth on display at whatever the guy is whispering in his ear, and he looks so soft and happy that Nick feels an unwarranted sense of affection wash over him._ _

__He’s in love; he wants the whole world to be in love too._ _

__“He looks familiar,” Alexa says._ _

__“He should.” Harry raises an eyebrow at Nick. “He’s got a billboard in Times Square.”_ _

__“Oh fuck,” Alexa says, voice low. “That naked one? It’s the naked one, isn’t it?”_ _

__“Yep,” Harry says. He’s grinning broadly, dimples on display._ _

__“What’s it advertising?” Nick asks, just as the guy leans in and kisses Ethan square on the mouth._ _

__“Oh my,” Daisy says. Nick takes her point. The whole thing is worth watching._ _

__“Not sure,” Harry says, grinning. “Wasn’t really looking at the words, was I?”_ _

__“Tramp,” Nick says, knocking Harry’s leg with his knee._ _

__“You wanna go say hey? I won’t fly into a jealous rage, promise.”_ _

__“Better not,” Nick says. “Though I do feel better knowing he’s not sitting home with a broken heart.”_ _

__“You went on two dates, you said. And I crashed the second. Hardly enough time to fall in love.”_ _

__“That’s all the time I need, baby.”_ _

__“I believe it.” Harry says, bumping his shoulder into Nick’s. He leans in. “He traded down if you ask me.”_ _

__“Good thing no one asked you, Styles.”_ _

__Harry grins, gaze flickering down to Nick’s mouth. “You wanna get out of here?”_ _

__“Like you would not believe.”_ _

__Harry calls for a car as they find their coats and say their good-byes. It’s waiting for them outside, the driver opening the door and ushering them into the back seat. Harry climbs onto him the minute the door shuts behind them._ _

__“Niiick,” he sings, squirreling his fingers under Nick’s coat._ _

__Nick laughs and catches his wrists. “Patience, young grasshopper.”_ _

__“No,” Harry whines. He licks Nick’s cheek. “Don’t wanna.”_ _

__“Do you wanna get arrested for indecent whatever this is?”_ _

__“No,” Harry says. “But there’s a partition and everything, see?” He’s all limbs, crawling all over Nick and trying to capture his mouth. “C’mon, let’s.”_ _

__“Let’s,” Nick laughs, because sometimes Harry is every inch of a twenty-something. “You’re not being a very good boy right now, are you?”_ _

__Harry freezes. He sits back on Nick’s knees. “No?”_ _

__“Nope,” Nick says. He drags his knuckles down Harry’s cheek. “And don’t you want to be a good boy?”_ _

__Harry bites his lip, like he’s really thinking about it. He looks down, then up at Nick through his lashes._ _

Nick has a half second to think _oh no_ before Harry leans and in whispers “I don’t wanna be good. I wanna be bad.” 

__“Oh my god,” Nick chokes out before Harry slides down, somehow folding himself up and fitting himself between the partition and the backseat. He bites the inside of Nick’s thigh through his jeans. “Oh my god, Harry.”_ _

__“Wanna suck you,” Harry says, pressing his face between Nick’s thighs. “Want you to fuck my face.”_ _

__“Holy shit,” Nick chokes out, hands scrambling down to get under Harry’s armpits and haul him back up, even as his dick’s fattening up at the idea. “Get up here.”_ _

__“No,” Harry says, staying resolutely put on the floor of the car._ _

__Nick laughs breathlessly and tugs. “Haz, come on.”_ _

__It takes all of Nick’s strength to pull Harry into his lap. When he finally manages it, Harry’s got his lower lip stuck all the way out. Nick grabs it and tugs him in, kissing him around his fingers. “Be a good boy now and I’ll eat you out when we get home.”_ _

__Harry scrambles off him, throwing himself into his seat and whipping his seatbelt over his lap. Nick laughs, helplessly charmed, and wills the driver to go faster._ _

__When they get home, he lets Pig out and spends a few minutes thinking about everything he wants to do to Harry. It’s an endless list, really. Hard to narrow down sometimes._ _

__He finds Harry in the shower, scrubbing the lingering scents of cigarette smoke and tequila off his skin. He shucks off his clothes and climbs in after him, sighing when the scalding hot water hits his skin._ _

__“Hiya,” Harry says, maneuvering them so that Nick’s under the spray. Nick tips his head back, letting the water soak his hair. “That was a fun night.”_ _

__“It was,” Nick tells him. He skates his hands down Harry’s chest and stomach, rubbing his thumbs into the hollows of his hips to watch the way his dick thickens up. He’s gorgeous like this, Harry is, all long limbs and bright eyes. Nick wants him endlessly._ _

__“Did it really upset you to see Ethan?”_ _

__“A little,” Nick says honestly. “But not for the reason you think. I just treated him kind of shittily. I don’t really like to think about it.”_ _

__“Let’s not, then,” Harry says. “Let’s think about something else?”_ _

__“Yeah? Like what?”_ _

__“Like this,” Harry says, pressing Nick back against the tile and covering his mouth. He reaches down and cups Nick’s dick with wet hands. “How’s that?”_ _

__“Good,” Nick chokes, pushing forward into Harry’s loose grip._ _

__“What about me? Am I good?”_ _

__Nick licks a trail of water off Harry’s collarbone. “Aren’t you always?”_ _

__“Not always,” Harry says, leaning his head back so Nick’s got even more room to kiss his throat._ _

__“No,” Nick says. He straightens up and pushes his hands through Harry’s wet hair. “Not always. But tonight.”_ _

__“You gonna take me to bed, then?”_ _

__“That what you want?”_ _

__Harry hums, licking his bottom lip._ _

__“Want me to eat you out?”_ _

__“Mmmhmm,” Harry says. His eyes have gone heavy-lidded, and his dick is hanging thick between his legs._ _

__“Let’s have you, then,” Nick says. He turns off the water and drapes a fluffy towel around Harry’s shoulders. He’s a spoiled brat, Harry is, and he just stands there and lets Nick towel him off. When he’s done, he pinches the soft skin on the back of Harry’s knee and swats him on the arse. “Go get on the bed.”_ _

__Harry does as he’s told, crawling onto the bed and pushing the duvet off the side to the floor below. He props himself up on his elbows, spreading his legs wide and taking up more space than he ought._ _

__For a second, Nick lets himself stop and drink in the sight of Harry sprawled there in his bed, naked and waiting. It’s a lot, still. Maybe one day it won’t be. Maybe one day he’ll be used to being the one who takes Harry to bed, but he doesn’t think so._ _

__Nick lets go of his towel and kneels on the bed. Harry’s eyes go dark and he drops down, pillowing his head on his arms and looking down the length of Nick’s body._ _

__Nick has to fight not to suck his stomach in. He knows he’s not impossible to look at, but it’s still hard sometimes to believe Harry wants him like this, skinny and awkward as he is, but he does, and Nick’s never going to get over it._ _

__“Still want me to eat you out?”_ _

__Harry waggles his eyebrows._ _

__“Flip over then.” Nick says. He slaps Harry’s hip, making Harry squeak even as his dick jerks. Nick raises his eyebrows. They’ll explore that later. “Come on, over. Haven’t got all night.”_ _

__“I don’t know why I put up with you,” Harry says, awkwardly clambering up onto his hands and knees and making a face at Nick over his shoulder._ _

__“Because,” Nick tells him. “I am very good at this.”_ _

__Harry groans as Nick leans in and spreads him wide, going straight in with his tongue. Harry’s arm’s give way first and then his knees as he collapses on the bed, spreading his thighs wide. “Fuck, Nick.”_ _

__“Nu uh,” Nick says, pulling back. He licks his mouth. “You gotta come up here.”_ _

__“Nick, please.”_ _

__“Up, love. Be a good boy for me.”_ _

__Harry whines but pushes his knees back under his hips and pushes his bum back toward Nick._ _

__“All the way.”_ _

__“Nick.”_ _

__“All the way, darling.”_ _

__Harry grumbles, but comes back to his hands and knees, his head hanging between his shoulders._ _

__“Good boy,” Nick tells him, rewarding him by licking over his hole again. Harry stays upright this time, so Nick stays there, laying deep, sucking kisses over Harry’s ass. He’s already hard, of course; he has been since he had Harry pressed all over him in the shower, but it’s easy to ignore when he’s got Harry going loose and easy beneath him._ _

__Once he’s got him breathing hard, Nick reaches between Harry’s thighs and wraps his hand around Harry’s dick. Harry makes a high, pained noise and shoves back, riding up against Nick’s face._ _

__“Easy,” Nick tells him._ _

__“Sorry,” Harry murmurs, going still. “Fuck. Feels good.”_ _

__“Good,” Nick says. “It’s supposed to.”_ _

__“Good,” Harry huffs. “Cause it does.”_ _

__Nick kisses the dip at the base of Harry’s spine. “What do you want?”_ _

__“Can you fuck me?”_ _

__“Could probably work myself up to it,” Nick says._ _

__Harry giggles, turning and tucking his chin against his shoulder to throw a grin at Nick. Nick winks at him extravagantly and swivels his hips._ _

__“You’re the worst person I know,” Harry says, still laughing._ _

__If there’s one thing that’s surprised Nick about being with Harry—and there’s not one thing; there’s a thousand—it’s how much fun it is to go to bed with him. Nick’s never had anything like it. Harry’s not afraid to joke around in bed, to laugh at himself or at Nick. He’s so open, so perfectly Harry. He’s still Nick’s very favorite person. He’s still his best friend. They haven’t lost it in the translation._ _

__Nick kisses Harry’s back again and rubs his cheek over that same spot. “Grab the lube for me, love.”_ _

__Harry complies, snatching the bottle and a condom out of the bedside table and handing them over. Nick drops the condom on the bed and slicks his fingers up._ _

__“Two okay?”_ _

__“Please, fuck,” Harry says. “I’m gagging for it over here.”_ _

__“Give you something to gag on if you don’t hold your horses.”_ _

__Harry’s laugh turns into a groan as Nick slides two fingers into him. He sighs, opening easy._ _

__“Good?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Harry says. He shifts on his knees, spreading himself a little wider._ _

__Nick traces his thumb around Harry’s hole, pulls his fingers out, then pushes them back in. Harry groans, arching his back._ _

__“Fuck, that’s bloody good.”_ _

__In answer, Nick fucks him again, pulling out until just his fingertips are resting against Harry’s rim, then corkscrewing them back in. He presses his hard dick against the back of Harry’s thigh._ _

__“Nick,” Harry gasps, going down onto his elbows and clasping his hands above his head like he’s praying._ _

__There’s no laughter between them anymore. They don’t have the breath for it. Nick loves this just as much as the other bit, when Harry goes stupid with want and doesn’t bother trying to make Nick laugh anymore. Nick loves being entertained almost as much as he loves being entertaining, but there’s something so raw and primal about Harry like this. He doesn’t think or even speak, unless it’s to tell Nick what feels good, and what he wants._ _

__“Ready?” Nick asks, pulling his hand free and fumbling the condom out of its wrapper. He squeezes a fistful of lube out and slicks himself up, then works the rest into Harry’s hole. He takes hold of Harry’s hips and tilts them up, arranging him how he wants him._ _

__Nick groans as he slides in, digging his fingers into Harry’s skin. Harry hums happily and turns his head to rest his cheek against the duvet, and fuck, Nick loves him like this. He skims his hands up the length of Harry’s back, collecting the water that’s trickled off the tips of Harry’s curls._ _

__“Sore?” he asks, gathering up a handful of Harry’s hair and tugging gently._ _

__Harry sighs and shuts his eyes. “Little,” he says. “It’s okay, though.”_ _

__Nick rakes his hand through. He’s not really surprised. They’d been mad for one another the night before. It’s a wonder either of them can walk. “Nah,” he says. “Tomorrow.”_ _

__“’kay,” Harry says easily. “Can I turn over?”_ _

__Nick pulls out and lets Harry roll over onto his back. He hooks his hands under Harry’s knees and tugs him down into his lap, sliding back in. Harry sighs and reaches down to press his dick against his stomach._ _

__“Gonna get yourself off?” Nick asks, rolling his hips forward again, easing into Harry and then back out again. It’s such a lazy fuck, and not at all what Nick was expecting when Harry mauled him on the way home from the club. He loves it like this. He loves it every way._ _

__“In a second,” Harry says. “Just…feeling.”_ _

__It’s such a Harry thing to say that Nick has to pause for a second and lean in to kiss him. Harry’s face lights up and he wraps one arm around Nick’s neck to keep him close._ _

__It takes a little longer for both of them to get there like this. The sky outside the window’s gone pearl-grey with clouds, and it’s casting the whole room in shadow. Harry eventually starts jerking himself off, loosely at first, then picking up the pace as he gets closer. Nick keeps fucking him through it, eyes locked on Harry’s face, waiting until just the right time to tell him, “you’re such a good boy for me, aren’t you?”_ _

__Harry chokes on his next breath, thighs going tight around Nick’s hips. “Please.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Nick says. “So fucking good for me. Look how gorgeous you are. Look how good you’re taking it, sweetheart.”_ _

__Harry’s body shakes; he gazes up at Nick with that look Nick loves, all open and trusting. Nick feels the first sparks of orgasm at the base of his spine._ _

__“Close,” he says, because Harry always likes to know._ _

__“Come in me,” Harry says._ _

__It does Nick’s head in, hearing Harry say things like that. One day they’re going to fuck bare, nothing between them at all. He’ll probably never let Harry out of the bed again._ _

__“Can you,” Nick says, hips going faster now. “Like this?”_ _

__“Gonna,” Harry says. “Any fucking second.”_ _

__Nick huffs out a laugh and pushes in one last time, coming deep inside Harry’s ass, pulsing endlessly and slicking up the condom. It’s incredible, every single time._ _

__It takes Harry just a few seconds longer, and Nick stays there for it, holding himself deep so Harry has something to come around. He winces at the first pulse of Harry’s arse around his sensitive dick, but it’s so worth it when Harry moans deep in his chest and shoots off all over his stomach._ _

__When they’ve both caught their breath, Nick manages to stagger into the bathroom to grab a towel to clean them both up. Harry stays in the bed, legs fallen open. He’s covered in come and bruises, and he’s the best thing Nick’s ever had._ _

__He wipes them both down, then tugs on a pair of pants and grabs his sleep shirt off the back of the armchair in the corner. He pulls it on, then turns and spreads his arms wide._ _

__“Can’t believe you sleep in that,” Harry says, shaking his head and pulling the duvet up over his legs. “Bit weird to sleep next to my own face._ _

__“You bought it,” Nick says. “Shouldn’t have given it to me if you didn’t want me to wear it. Besides, it’s cold.”_ _

__“Gonna get you some proper pajamas.”_ _

__“Nope. I only want my Harry Styles shirt, and that’s it.”_ _

__“Idiot.” Harry flips his bedside lamp off, then rolls over and curls around Nick. “Love you,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of Nick’s ear._ _

__“Love you back,” Nick says as Harry slips a hand under the hem of Nick’s shirt and rests his hand on the soft curve of Nick’s belly. It’s chilly in the bedroom, even under the duvet. Nick tugs his shirt down over Harry’s wrist, pressing his grin into the pillow when the movement just makes Harry scoot closer._ _

__He’ll get hot soon, Harry will, and roll back to his side of the bed, but for the moment, Nick just shuts his eyes, soaking in the way the backs of his legs are pressed all along the length of Harry’s, loving the intimacy of Harry’s soft dick nestled up against Nick’s bum._ _

__Nick sleeps in his Harry Styles shirt every night that winter and into the spring too. He wears it until it’s gone threadbare and soft with washing. Eventually it starts to get a hole under one of the arms, but Nick isn’t worried. Harry’s always gonna be around to get him a new one._ _

**Author's Note:**

> YES HELLO AGAIN. Mog made me this very lovely moodboard thing and it's perfect and I guess you can...reblog it? Tumble it? I'm sorry, I'm a million and I don't understand the tumblr. But yes, Nick and Harry and lovely, go look at their faces. 
> 
> http://magicalrocketships.tumblr.com/post/167239458618/a-relentless-maybe-by-justamouse-nickharry
> 
> edit: I decided to make a tumblr for playing around, so if you're so inclined, you can find it here https://justamousethings.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> (I'm sure there's a way to make those links pretty but damned it i know what it is.)


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